STAR 


FOR  A  NIGHT 


ELSIE 
JAN  IS 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


A  STAR  FOR  A  NIGHT 


•»*••;* 


ELSIE  JANIS  IN  A  F*;\V  OF  HER  CHARACTERIZATIONS. 


A  STAR  FOR 
A  NIGHT 

A  STORY  OF  STAGE   LIFE 


BY 

ELSIE  JANIS 


WITH    PICTURES    FROM    THE    PLAY 
TAKEN  ESPECIALLY  FOR  THE  BOOK 


NEW  YORK 

WILLIAM    RICKEY  &  COMPANY 
1911 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Copyright,  19 1 1,  by 
BRUCE  EDWARDS 

Copyright,  1 91 1,  by 
WILLIAM  RICKEY  &  COMPANY 

Registered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 
(All  Rights  Reserved) 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PRESS    OF   WILLIAM    G.    HEWITT,    BROOKLYN,    N.    Y. 


[To  My  Mother 


ORIGINAL  CAST 
or 


A   STAR   FOR   A    NIGHT 

Produced  at    Charles   Dillingham 's  Globe    Theatre, 
New  York 


GuetfSat 


"  MARKY  "  ZINSHEIMER 

MRS.  BLACKMAN! 

MRS.  GILDAY 

MRS.  MARTIN 

MRS.  CARLIN       j 

BELL-BOY 

MRS.  DAINTON 

VICTOR  WELDON 

SANFORD  GORDON 

FELICE       )      Mrs.  Dainton's 

MURRAY  f        servants 
FLOSSIE  FORSYTHE 

MRS.   KlLPATRICK 

MARTHA  FARNUM 

"  PINKIE  "  LEXINGTON 

GEORGE  CLAYTON 

LIZZIE 

ARTHUR  MORTIMER 

MRS.  JANE  ANDERSON 

MESSENGER  BOY 

ARNOLD  LAWRENCE 

PHIL  HUMMER 


Mr.  Joseph  Cawthorn 
f  Miss  Jane  Bliss 

IMiss  Pauline  Hathaway 
Miss  Josephine  Lachmar 
Miss  Henrietta  Pouts 
Mr.  Al  Stuart 
Miss  Harriet  Sterling 
Mr.  Ralph  Nairn 
Mr.  Stanley  H.  Forde 
<  Miss  Josephine  Kernell 
1          Mr.  Jack  Sullivan 
Miss  Elisabeth  Brice 
Miss  Margaret  King 
Miss  Elsie  Janis 
Miss  Julia  Frary 
Mr.  Wallace  McCutcheon 
Miss  Olive  Quimby 
Mr.  Gene  Revere 
Miss  Queenie  Vassar 
Master  Albert  Lams  on 
Mr.  Charles  Judels 
Mr.  Charles  King 


Business  Manager 
Stage  Manager 


J.  CLYDE  RIGBY 
E.  C  DONNELLY 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 


"Zinsheimer,  of  New  York"  .  .  i 
The  English  Actress  .  .  .  15 

Introducing  Martha  Farnum  .  .  27 
A  Glimpse  into  the  Past  ...  49 
Strictly  a  Business  Bargain  .  .  63 
"Where  Everything  is  Homelike"  .  71 
A  Hundred-Dollar  Bill  ...  89 
Sanford  Gordon  Reappears  .  .  103 
Love  and  Ambition  .  .  .  .121 
The  Underground  Wires  .  .  .  133 
In  the  Green-Room  ....  143 
An  Overture  and  a  Prelude  .  .155 
Before  the  Curtain  Rose  .  .  .167 
The  Morning  After  .  .  .  .183 
The  Final  Reckoning  .  .  .  .  197 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Elsie  Janis  in  a  Few  of  Her  Characterizations— 

Frontispiece 
FACING 

PAGE 

"  Marky "  Zinsheimer  (Joseph  Cawthorn)     .        .        4 

"  Oh,  that's  Miss  Farnum.    She's  old  Mrs.  Kil- 

patrick's  companion " 28 

"I  haven't  had  an  orchid  this  season"         .        .      84 

"More   flowers,  and  from  a  man  I  have  never 

spoken  to " 94 

"  I  refuse  to  let  you  go,  Martha  "  .        .        .        .98 
"  I'm  sorry  I'm  so  poor,"  sobbed  Pinkie      .        .     102 

"  And  glad  I  am  to  be  back  in  your  hospitable 

house" 114 

"My  boots  have  not  arrived,  I  refuse  to  go  on 

unless  correctly  dressed "        .        .        .        .162 

Martha  Farnum  (Elsie  Janis)        ....    168 

"This  is  infamous,   infamous!      I    won't  read 

another  line" 188 

"She  looked   like  a  turnip  and  acted  the  part 

artistically" 194 


A    STAR    FOR   A   NIGHT 


CHAPTER  I 


"ZINSHEIMER,   OF   NEW  YORK" 


STICK  a  pin  in  the  map  of  southern  In 
diana,  half  an  inch  to  the  left  of  Lost 
River,  and  about  six  hours  from  the  rest 
of  the  world,  as  time  is  used  to  measure 
railroad  journeys,  and  you  will  find  a 
speck  called  French  Lick  Springs.  Hidden 
away  in  the  hills,  so  remote  from  the  cen 
ters  of  civilization  that  only  wealthy  in 
ebriates  and  chronic  invalids  can  afford  to 
visit  this  out  of  the  way,  yet  expensive, 
spot,  French  Lick  has  other  attractions 
than  the  natural  beauties  of  its  scenery  and 
the  health-giving  quality  of  its  waters. 
For  while  the  sick  and  the  ailing  may  be 
i 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

tempted  to  the  Springs  in  the  hope  of 
gaining  health  from  the  bad-smelling 
waters  they  drink,  and  dozens  of  florid- 
faced  men  invade  the  little  town  almost 
every  day  from  the  big  and  distant  cities 
in  order  to  "get  washed  out"  after  too 
much  indulgence  in  alcoholic  stimulants, 
there  are  others  who  go  to  the  Springs 
simply  for  the  excitement  of  a  little  whirl 
at  the  gaming  tables,  which  rumor  says 
abound  there,  but  which  a  shrewd  deputy 
sheriff  invariably  reports  to  the  local  grand 
jury,  "Non  est." 

The  town  itself  is  a  tiny  hamlet.  There 
is  a  post-office,  a  railroad  station,  a  few 
frame  buildings,  and  the  hotel — the  hotel, 
because  it  is  the  only  shelter  the  town  af 
fords  to  the  weary  traveler.  Patrons  who 
have  stopped  at  the  City  Hotel  in  Mar- 
shalltown,  Iowa,  or  the  Commercial 
House  in  Joplin,  Missouri,  may  wonder 
how  such  a  tiny  town  supports  such  a  gi 
gantic  hotel,  but  the  rural  spectators  at  the 
railroad  station,  who  have  seen  the  trains 


"Zinsheimer,  of  New  York" 

on  the  little  branch  road  bring  in  Pullman 
after  Pullman  loaded  to  the  roofs,  know 
that  no  small  part  of  the  great  outside 
world  comes  here  for  rest,  recreation,  and 
rehabilitation.  Drinking  is  under  the  ban 
here — that  is,  if  you  must  drink,  you  must 
drink  the  sulphur  water.  And  every  one 
who  has  tried  to  mix  alcohol  with  the 
water  of  the  Springs  knows  the  evil  con 
sequences  thereof. 

Which  latter  explains  why  Mr. 
"Marky"  Zinsheimer,  New  York,  feather 
importer,  was  particularly  grouchy  on  a 
certain  autumn  afternoon  when  he  strolled 
into  the  sun  parlor  on  the  veranda  of  the 
French  Lick  Springs  Hotel.  In  the  vicin 
ity  of  Broadway  and  Canal  Street,  New 
York,  Mr.  Zinsheimer  was  a  personage  of 
great  importance.  Not  a  cloak  model  in 
the  Grand  Street  district  but  knew  him  to 
be  "a  perfectly  lovely  gentleman."  Not 
a  chorus  girl  south  of  Fifty-ninth  Street 
but  knew  that  "Marky"  was  always  a 
friend  in  need  and  a  friend  indeed.  The 

3 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

waiters  at  Rector's  treated  him  almost  as 
if  he  were  an  equal.  He  was  always  sure 
of  a  prominent  table  at  the  Cafe  de 
1'Opera,  whether  he  wore  evening  clothes 
or  not.  He  was  accustomed  to  attention, 
and  demanded  it.  Furthermore,  he  was 
willing  to  pay  for  all  the  attention  he  re 
ceived.  Forty-two  years  old,  with  a  blond 
German  personality  which  manifested  it 
self  in  a  slightly  bald  forehead,  slightly 
curled  blond  hair,  and  a  slightly  blond 
moustache,  Mr.  "Marky"  Zinsheimer 
gave  every  outward  evidence  of  being  an 
important  personage.  His  clothes  were, 
perhaps,  a  trifle  extreme;  his  tie  perhaps 
a  trifle  too  pronounced  in  color;  his  watch- 
chain  a  trifle  too  heavy;  and  his  solitaire 
diamond  stud  was  undoubtedly  too  large ; 
yet  for  all  that,  if  you  were  in  the  least  bit 
worldly,  "Marky"  Zinsheimer  was  not  a 
person  to  be  lightly  ignored. 

Mr.  Zinsheimer's  natural  good  humor 
was  disturbed  even  before  he  made  his  en 
trance  into  the  sun  parlor.     In  the  first 
4 


MABKY"  ZINSHEIMER  (JOSEPH  CAWTHORN) 


"Zinshcimer,  of  New  York" 

place,  he  had  gone  seven  days  without  a 
drink,  a  feat  simple  enough  for  a  camel, 
but  slightly  difficult  for  a  Zinsheimer.  In 
the  second  place,  he  had  devised  a  scheme 
for  entertainment  during  his  enforced  va 
cation  at  the  Springs,  said  entertainment 
comprising  a  visit  and  the  companionship 
at  golf  of  one  Miss  Flossie  Forsythe,  of 
the  "Follies"  company,  who  had  hurriedly 
left  the  company  in  Chicago  to  accept  Mr. 
Zinsheimer's  telegraphed  invitation.  But, 
while  Mr.  Zinsheimer  was  genuinely  fond 
of  Flossie,  and  had  even  once  spoken 
vaguely  of  matrimony,  he  had  found  that 
a  week  of  her  society  at  breakfast,  din 
ner  and  supper,  to  say  nothing  of  golf, 
was  a  trifle  wearing. 

The  third  reason  for  Mr.  Zinsheimer's 
perturbation  was  the  discovery,  as  he  en 
tered  the  sun  parlor,  that  all  the  desirable 
chairs  were  occupied. 

Two  of  the  easy  wicker  rockers  were 
drawn  up  by  a  small  table,  where  a  game 
of  checkers  was  in  progress  between  two 
5 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

fat  ladies.  Ranged  at  intervals  along  the 
glass-enclosed  front  were  four  other  equal 
ly  stout  ladies,  lolling  back  in  equally  com 
fortable  chairs,  some  reading,  some  doz 
ing.  Mr.  Zinsheimer,  who  had  anticipated 
a  pleasant  morning  reading  the  New  York 
papers,  was  obviously  annoyed.  Fortu 
nately,  he  knew  the  proper  method  of  at 
tacking  and  routing  the  enemy. 

One  of  the  stout  ladies,  puzzling  over 
her  next  move,  was  almost  choked  when 
a  whiff  of  smoke  was  blown  across  the 
checker-board.  A  moment  later,  a  somno 
lent  and  rotund  lady  in  one  of  the  rockers 
started  up  furiously  as  another  whiff 
drifted  in  her  direction.  A  page-boy  en 
tering  at  this  particular  moment  was  hur 
riedly  summoned  by  the  indignant  ladies, 
and  Mr.  Zinsheimer,  gazing  vacantly  into 
space,  felt  a  slight  touch  on  the  arm. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  "smok 
ing  is  not  permitted  here." 

Mr.  Zinsheimer  frowned. 

"I  did  not  ask  permission,"  he  replied. 
6 


"Zinsheimcr,  of  New  York" 

Two  of  the  stout  ladies  gathered  up 
their  magazines,  glowered  at  the  placid 
Zinsheimer  and  the  nonplussed  boy,  mur 
mured  "Wretch,"  and  departed. 

"But  I  mean,  there's  no  smoking  here," 
continued  the  boy. 

"Marky"  Zinsheimer  blew  a  particu 
larly  large  whiff  of  smoke  in  the  direction 
of  the  checker-table. 

"You're  wrong,  kid,"  he  remarked. 
"There  is  smoking  here,  and  I'm  doing  it." 

"But  it's  against  the  hotel  rules." 

"Hotel  rules  are  like  a  woman's  mind," 
said  "Marky"  carelessly,  moving  toward 
the  checker-table.  "They  can  be  changed 
to  fit  any  situation." 

The  checker-players  were  so  much  ab 
sorbed  in  their  game  that  they  did  not  no 
tice  him  at  first,  so  he  leaned  over  the 
table,  genially,  and  inquired: 

"Well,  whose  move  is  it  now?" 

"I  believe  it's  mine,"  retorted  one  of 
the  two  players,  indignantly  rising  to  her 
feet  and  starting  toward  the  door. 

7 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"And  mine,"  responded  the  other,  fol 
lowing  suit.  At  the  door  the  twain  paused 
and  called  to  the  other  occupant  of  the 
room:  "We  are  going  for  a  walk,  Mabel. 
Won't  you  come?" 

Mabel  picked  up  her  book  and  moved 
toward  the  irate  checker-players  who  had 
been  so  summarily  routed. 

"I  don't  like  that  cigar,"  she  declared, 
stopping  and  turning  to  Zinsheimer. 

"Well,  then,  try  one  of  these,"  re 
sponded  the  irrepressible  "Marky,"  offer 
ing  several  long  perfectos  from  a  leather 
case.  He  was  answered  only  by  a  snort 
of  indignation,  and  the  next  moment  the 
smiling  and  courteous  Mr.  Zinsheimer, 
alone  on  the  field  of  battle,  settled  himself 
in  the  most  comfortable  of  the  vacated 
chairs. 

But  "Marky's"  serenity  was  to  be  short 
lived.  There  was  a  rattle  of  chatelaine 
chains,  a  vague  and  indistinct  odor  of  some 
unrecognizable  but  vivid  perfume,  the 
rustle  of  silken  skirts,  a  cry  of  glad  sur- 
8 


"Zinsheimer,  of  New   York" 

prise,  and  Miss  Flossie  Forsythe,  engag 
ing,  attractive,  youthful  and  magnetic, 
settled  herself  on  the  arm  of  his  rocking- 
chair  as  though  entitled  to  rest  there  by 
the  law  of  eminent  domain. 

"Marky,"  she  cried,  "I've  been  looking 
for  you  everywhere!  Who  ever  would 
have  thought  of  finding  you  in  the  sun 
parlor?" 

Mr.  Zinsheimer  coughed  uneasily. 

"Yes,  that's  just  what  I  thought,"  he 
stammered.  "You  see,"  he  added,  "I  no 
ticed  you  talking  to  that  swell  chap  Gor 
don  in  the  lobby,  and  I  didn't  like  it." 

Flossie  patted  his  cheek  playfully,  in 
spite  of  "Marky's"  efforts  to  elude  her, 
and  said  joyfully: 

"Oh,  Marky,  you  were  jealous!" 

Mr.  Zinsheimer  grunted. 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  find  a  new  backer, 
go  ahead.  All  right,  only  you'd  better  be 
careful  I  don't  get  cold  feet  first.  Feather 
importers  is  in  demand  on  Broadway  this 
season,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought. 

9 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"But  Mr.  Gordon  is  an  old  friend," 
pouted  Flossie.  "I  was  introduced  to  him 
one  night  when  he  sat  at  a  table  next  to 
me  during  the  run  of  'Florodora.'  " 

"I  suppose  you  were  one  of  them  orig 
inal  sextetters,  eh?" 

"Now,  Marky,  don't  be  horrid  when 
I  was  just  going  to  ask  a  little  favor  of 
you."  ' 

Mr.  Zinsheimer  rose  to  his  feet  care 
fully,  and  buttoned  up  his  coat  with  an 
ominous  air,  while,  relieved  of  his  ballast, 
Flossie  almost  fell  from  her  comfortable 
perch  on  the  arm  of  the  big  chair. 

"Nothing  doing,  Flossie,"  remarked 
Zinsheimer,  coldly.  "Of  course  it's  all 
right  for  me  to  pay  the  hotel  bill  of  my 
fiancee,  but  as  the  bill  is  assuming  generous 
proportions,  I  don't  think  the  fiancee 
should  expect  to  go  any  further." 

Flossie's  dark  eyes  half  filled  with  tears, 
and  there  was  just  a  slight  suspicion  of  a 
twitch  around  the  lips  at  the  injustice  done 
her,  and  she  said  plaintively: 
10 


"Zinsheimcr,  of  New  York" 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  borrow  any 
money.'* 

At  that  Zinsheimer  threw  open  his  coat 
easily,  sighed  with  relief,  and  inquired 
easily: 

"Why,  certainly,  my  dear.  What  is  it 
you  want?" 

"Well,  it's  about  my  chum,  Pinkie  Lex 
ington,"  began  Flossie,  brushing  a  few 
spects  of  dust  from  Mr.  Zinsheimer's  coat- 
sleeve.  "We  were  out  together  two  years 
ago  with  'The  Girl  from  Paris' — the  time 
it  stranded  in  Butte  and  you  sent  us  the 
railroad  tickets  to  come  home." 

"I  remember,"  interrupted  Zinsheimer, 
quickly.  "Rather  a  pretty  girl  she  was, 
too." 

"She's  still  pretty,  but  she's  awful  fat," 
resumed  Flossie,  wonderfully  innocently. 
"And  I  never  heard  any  one  call  her  beau 
tiful.  Anyhow,  the  show  she's  with  has 
gone  on  the  rocks  up  near  Indianapolis, 
and  Pinkie  has  been  left  high  and  dry  with 


out  a  cent." 


ii 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"So  you  want  me  to  send  her  some  more 
rocks,  eh?" 

"Not  at  all.  Pinkie  wrote  me  all  about 
it,  and  I  wired  her  to  come  down  here  at 
once.  She's  due  this  afternoon,  and  I  can 
share  my  room  with  her  if  you'll  just  speak 
to  the  manager  and  say  we're  good  for  the 
money." 

Zinsheimer  scratched  his  head  reflect 
ively. 

"But  neither  of  you  has  any  money," 
he  ventured. 

"You  know  as  soon  as  my  lawsuit  is 
settled,  I  will  be  on  velvet,"  retorted 
Flossie,  haughtily.  "Meanwhile,  your 
word  with  the  manager  goes." 

Lawsuit?"  repeated  Mr.  Zinsheimer. 
"Now,  Flossie,  that's  been  going  on  for 
five  years  and  I  never  found  out  yet  what 
it  was  all  about.  Where  is  it  and  when 
will  it  be  settled?" 

Flossie's  evident  embarrassment  at  the 
inquiry  into  the  facts  of  her  lawsuit  was 
fortunately  terminated  by  the  sudden  en- 
12 


"Zinsheimer,  of  New  York" 

trance  of  a  bell-boy  with  a  telegram  for 
"Miss  Forsythe."  " 

"That's  me,  boy,"  cried  Flossie,  grab 
bing  the  envelope  and  tearing  it  open. 
"It's  from  Pinkie  and  she'll  be  here  on  the 
3  130  train,"  she  explained,  turning  to  Zin 
sheimer.  "Boy,  call  me  a  carriage." 

"Yes,  Miss,"  responded  the  boy,  mov 
ing  toward  the  office. 

"And  have  it  charged  to  rny  room," 
called  Flossie,  hastily.  Then,  taking 
"Marky"  by  the  coat  lapels,  she  turned 
her  big  brown  eyes  upward  and  asked 
archly: 

"You  will  speak  to  the  manager  about 
Pinkie?" 

Mr.  Zinsheimer  endeavored  to  gain 
time,  but  the  appeal  was  direct  and  to  the 
point.  He  coughed  twice,  as  if  planning 
resistance,  and  then  surrendered. 

"All  right,"  he  growled.  'Til  speak  to 
the  manager,  Flossie,  but  I  know  who'll 
pay  the  bill." 

"You  old  dear,"  cried  Flossie,  and  in 
13 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

another  moment  the  rattling  chatelaines, 
the  vague  and  unrecognizable  perfume,  the 
rustling  skirts  and  the  fascinating  Flossie 
flitted  along  the  veranda  toward  the  wait 
ing  carriage,  while  "Marky"  tried  to  get 
interested  in  the  New  York  papers  and 
figure  the  total  of  seventeen  days  at  five 
dollars  a  day,  with  extras  in  the  shape  of 
flowers,  carriages,  candies,  manicures,  tips, 
and  other  incidentals  dear  to  the  heart  of 
a  lovely  woman  who  lives  economically  but 
well. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  ENGLISH  ACTRESS 

MRS.  DAINTON,  the  great  English  ac 
tress,  had  the  artistic  temperament.  Mrs. 
Dainton  had  nerves.  Mrs.  Dainton  had 
many  other  things  which  an  imported  for 
eign  star  anxious  to  create  a  sensation 
might  be  expected  to  have.  For  instance, 
she  had  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  the  petite  Pomer 
anian  poodle  which  never  left  her  night  or 
day.  She  had  her  personal  manager,  Vic 
tor  Weldon,  to  act  as  valet  for  the  dog  by 
daytime,  and  attend  to  occasional  business 
details.  There  were  also  two  maids — Liz.- 
ette,  the  French  maid,  whose  duties  were 
of  a  personal  nature  at  hotels;  and  Jo 
hanna,  the  German  maid,  who  assisted  at 
the  theater.  Furthermore,  there  was  a 

15 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

footman  whose  special  province  it  was  to 
precede  Mrs.  Dainton  at  all  times  and 
make  sure  that  no  rude  persons  caused  her 
the  slightest  annoyance.  In  the  trail  of 
this  imposing  procession,  as  a  rule,  could 
be  found  Sanford  Gordon. 

Once  Mrs.  Dainton  had  been  a  great 
beauty.  The  daughter  of  an  obscure  coun 
try  curate  in  her  native  England,  condi 
tions  made  it  necessary  for  her  to  support 
herself.  Naturally,  as  so  many  of  her  sex 
have  done,  she  gravitated  toward  the 
stage,  which  always  beckons  most  allur 
ingly  to  those  who  have  beauty,  youth  and 
talent.  Too  often  it  is  but  the  Lorelei  by 
which  are  wrecked  the  disappointed  hopes 
of  those  not  fitted  by  nature  or  tempera 
ment  for  the  hardships  that  must  be  en 
countered,  but  with  Mrs.  Dainton  the 
struggle  for  success  had  been  aided  ma 
terially  by  the  beauty  and  charm  with 
which  she  was  richly  endowed.  Returning 
to  America  after  a  number  of  years — for 
her  first  tour  of  this  country  after  her  Lon- 
16 


The  English  Actress 

don  triumphs  had  been  like  a  whirlwind 
— Mrs.  Dainton  had  found  herself  still 
viewed  with  interest,  still  admired  for  the 
great  beauty  which  had  now  reached  its 
maturity,  and  still  peevish  and  petulant  as 
a  result  of  the  fulfillment  of  her  every 
slightest  wish  and  whim.  Her  little  eccen 
tricities  were  always  excused  by  her  per 
sonal  manager  as  "Madame's  tempera 
ment."  If  an  inquisitive  newspaper  man 
wanted  to  know  why  Madame  had  held 
the  curtain  until  nine  o'clock — when  in 
reality  she  had  merely  motored  into  the 
country  too  far  and  had  been  careless  of 
the  time — Victor  would  explain:  "Ah, 
Madame  has  been  visiting  some  sick  chil 
dren.  She  is  always  so  generous,  so  con 
siderate."  Long  experience  had  made 
Victor  invaluable.  His  it  was  to  receive 
the  blame  whenever  anything  went  wrong, 
to  excuse  to  the  utmost  the  weaknesses  of 
the  English  actress  whenever,  as  they 
often  did,  her  whims  seemed  likely  to  af 
fect  the  box-office  receipts. 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

Consequently,  when  Mrs.  Dainton  and 
her  entourage,  passing  out  on  their  way  to 
Sanford  Gordon's  new  ninety  horse-power 
touring  car  which  was  drawn  up  before  the 
hotel,  entered  the  sun  parlor,  it  didn't  in 
the  least  surprise  the  amiable  and  consid 
erate  Victor  to  have  the  English  actress 
pause,  sniff,  stamp  her  foot,  and  protest. 

"Some  one  has  been  smoking  here,"  she 
insisted  shrilly.  "Victor,  send  for  the 
manager!  The  same  thing  happened  yes 
terday." 

"I  have  already  complained  once — "  be 
gan  Weldon,  shifting  the  Pomeranian 
from  the  left  arm  to  the  right. 

"No  matter — complain  again.  If  we 
cannot  have  satisfaction,  complain  a  third 
and  a  fourth  time.  That  is  what  hotel 
managers  are  here  for — to  listen  to  com 
plaints." 

Sanford  Gordon,  the  least  obtrusive  fig 
ure  of  the  little  cavalcade,  and  the  one 
who,  for  personal  reasons,  least  desired  a 
scene  which  might  find  its  way  into  the 
18 


The  English  Actress 

newspapers,  stepped  forward  to  calm  the 
irate  actress.  Once,  rumor  said,  Sanford 
Gordon  had  been  able  to  calm  her  impetu 
ous  spirit,  but  that  had  been  in  days  long 
gone  by.  Then  he  had  chartered  a  private 
car  to  be  near  her  on  her  travels,  he  had 
risked  an  open  scandal  by  his  devotion  to 
the  celebrated  beauty.  Now  things  were 
different.  Not  only  did  he  not  relish  the 
idea  of  an  altercation  with  a  hotel  manage 
ment,  always  fraught  with  sensational 
newspaper  possibilities  which  his  smart 
fellow  club  members  in  New  York  might 
turn  into  a  jibe  or  a  joke,  but  his  influence 
with  Mrs.  Dainton  herself  seemed  to  be 
waning. 

"Really,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dainton,"  he  be 
gan  softly,  "what  does  it  matter?  We  do 
not  intend  to  remain  here  more  than  a 
moment." 

Perhaps  for  some  hidden  reason  of  her 
own,  Mrs.  Dainton  seemed  to  find  pleas 
ure  in  turning  upon  him  suddenly. 

"How  do  you  know  how  long  I  may 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

stay  here?  Perhaps  I  may  wish  to  spend 
the  afternoon  here,"  she  declared.  "Some 
one  has  been  smoking  here,  smoking  vile, 
filthy  cigars.  Such  things  affect  my  voice. 
And  what  could  I  do  without  my  voice? 
I  couldn't  act.  I  should  be  penniless.  Vic 
tor,  you  must  not  let  this  happen  again." 

"I  will  do  my  best,  Mrs.  Dainton,"  re 
plied  Victor. 

"Marky"  Zinsheimer,  covertly  throw 
ing  away  his  cigar,  rose  and  bowed  before 
the  English  actress,  while  the  footman 
stared  in  surprise,  and  Victor  seemed 
aghast  at  the  presumption. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Dainton,  it  was  I 
who  smoked,"  said  "Marky." 

Mrs.  Dainton  surveyed  him  curiously 
through  her  lorgnette. 

"Indeed !  You  should  have  known  bet 
ter.  I  really  think  you  had  better  com 
plain  to  the  manager,  Victor,  about  this 
person." 

"My  name  is  Zinsheimer,"  bowed 
"Marky,"  smiling  amiably.  "Well-known 
20 


The  English  Actress 

first-nighter  in  New  York — go  to  all  the 
theaters — maybe  you've  heard  of  me.  I'm 
known  everywhere  along  Broadway.  Per 
haps  you  may  remember  I  bought  the  first 
box  for  your  opening  night  last  season. 
Yes,  paid  three  hundred  dollars  for  it, 
too,"  he  added  proudly,  as  an  after 
thought. 

"Really?"  repeated  Mrs.  Dainton,  lan 
guidly.  "Such  things  do  not  interest  me  in 
the  least.  I  never  think  of  the  sordid  de 
tails  of  business — I  live  only  for  my  art." 

She  passed  him  by  as  though  he  were 
merely  a  part  of  the  furniture.  "Marky" 
gazed  at  her  furtively,  but  slowly  his  com 
posure  deserted  him.  He  backed  away 
carefully  from  this  wonderful  creation. 

"She  lives  only  for  her  art,  eh?"  he  mur 
mured  softly.  "I  got  you — you'll  die 
young,"  he  added  to  himself,  as  he  drew 
another  cigar  from  his  pocket,  ostenta 
tiously  lighted  it,  and  strolled  out  onto  the 
veranda. 

21 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Victor,  is  the  motor  here?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Dainton. 

Victor  shifted  the  Pomeranian  to  the 
other  arm,  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  sun 
parlor,  and  reported  that  the  chauffeur 
seemed  to  be  tinkering  with  the  car. 

"And  must  I  breathe  this  horrible  at 
mosphere  while  that  lazy  chauffeur  pre 
tends  to  fix  the  car?  You  must  discharge 
him  and  get  another." 

"But  I  say,"  broke  in  Gordon,  "the 
man's  the  best  driver  I  ever  had.  I 
brought  him  from  France." 

"I  don't  care  if  you  brought  him  from 
Hindoostan,"  retorted  Mrs.  Dainton,  cold 
ly.  "When  I  say  I  will  not  use  him  after 
to-day,  I  mean  it."  Reaching  two  daintily 
gloved  hands  toward  the  Pomeranian, 
snugly  ensconced  under  Victor's  arm,  the 
actress  grasped  its  little,  fuzzy  head, 
pressed  it  to  her  cheek,  and  smothered  it 
with  kisses.  "And  my  poor  'ittle  Fuzzy- 
Wuzzy.  Must  'oo  breafe  ze  awful  smoke, 
too,  bress  urns  baby  heartsums.  Urns 
22 


The  English  Actress 

'ittle  Fuzzy- Wuzzy  is  mamma's  pet,  isn't 
urns?" 

"The  motor  is  ready  now,  Madame," 
ventured  Victor  stolidly. 

Mrs.  Dainton  handed  the  dog  to  Jo 
hanna. 

"Wrap  the  precious  darling  up  warmly, 
Johanna,"  she  said.  "You  ride  with  me, 
Victor.  Lizette,  my  cloak.  Crawley,  you 
ride  in  front  with  the  chauffeur  and  keep 
any  dust  from  entering  Fuzzy's  eyes." 

As  the  procession  started  toward  the 
waiting  car,  Gordon,  who  followed  close 
by  the  English  actress,  inquired: 

"Where  shall  we  go  to-day?" 

"Really,  I  don't  think  we  shall  have 
room  for  you  to-day,  Sanford,"  said  Mrs. 
Dainton,  somewhat  coldly,  pausing  at  the 
top  of  the  steps  while  the  maids,  assisted 
by  the  footman  and  Victor,  helped  Fuzzy- 
Wuzzy  tenderly  into  the  car. 

"That's  what  you  have  said  for  the  past 
three  days,"  Gordon  cried  tensely.  "And 
yet  I  brought  my  own  machine  and  my 
23 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

own  chauffeur  out  here  from  New  York 
just  to  please  you." 

"And  you  are  pleasing  me  a  great  deal, 
Sanford,  by  letting  me  go  alone." 

"Will  nothing  I  do  ever  move  you?"  in 
quired  Gordon.  Then,  as  he  saw  she  was 
more  interested  in  the  way  Johanna  was 
holding  the  Pomeranian,  he  added  fiercely: 
"Once  you  would  have  answered  differ 
ently." 

Mrs.  Dainton  turned  on  him,  her  man 
ner  a  strange  mingling  of  sadness  and 
regret. 

"Ah,  yes,  once,"  she  said  softly.  "I 
loved  you  then  without  any  thought  of  the 
future,  and  I  have  paid  for  it  with  many, 
many  bitter  years  of  repentance.  Now, 
after  all  these  years — years  when  you 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  my  very  exist 
ence  and  the  thing  which  you  had  once 
called  love — I  return  to  America,  praised 
and  honored  by  those  who  in  the  old  days 
had  treated  me  so  lightly,  you  among  the 


rest." 


24 


The  English  Actress 

"That's  not  true,"  broke  in  Gordon.  "I 
always  loved  you." 

"But  we  parted,"  continued  Mrs.  Dain- 
ton,  bitterly.  "And  if  I  had  returned,  need 
ing  your  help  instead  of  being  able  to 
reject  all  that  you  can  give,  would  you 
have  come  to  me  again?" 

"You  know  I  should  have." 

"No,  Sanford,  we  seek  only  that  which 
is  beyond  our  reach,"  she  said  softly,  lay 
ing  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "The  candle  has 
burned  out.  Do  not  try  to  relight  it.  I 
have  been  only  an  incident  in  your  life — " 

"That's  not  true." 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  know  about  the 
others?" 

"They  were  nothing  to  me.  It  was  you, 
always  you." 

"One  who  has  been  through  the  mill 
doesn't  care  to  be  crushed  by  the  mill 
stones  a  second  time.  Take  my  advice, 
Sanford — return  to  New  York,  seek  out 
some  nice  young  girl,  and  marry  her." 

"Never!" 

251 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Really!"  Mrs.  Dainton  laughed  lightly 
as  she  ran  down  the  steps  and  was  helped 
into  the  car  by  the  vigilant  Victor.  "Ta 
ta,  Sanford,  I'll  see  you  to-morrow,  or  the 
day  after.'*  And  in  another  moment  the 
big,  red  touring-car  had  whirled  away, 
leaving  upon  the  steps  the  solitary  figure 
of  a  tall,  dark,  good-looking  chap  of  un 
certain  age,  who  clenched  his  hands  tight 
ly,  then  turned  suddenly  as  a  bell-boy 
passed  along  the  veranda. 

"Boy!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Tell  my  valet  to  pack  up  at  once.  I'm 
leaving  for  New  York  to-night." 

"Yes,  sir.  Very  good,  sir,"  closing  a  re 
sponsive  palm.  "Thank  you,  sir." 


CHAPTER  III 

INTRODUCING  MARTHA  FARNUM 

IN  the  cosmopolitan  atmosphere  of  any 
famous  health  resort,  strangely  contrasting 
types  are  often  found.  Amid  the  vain,  the 
foolish,  the  inebriates  and  the  idle  who 
flocked  to  the  Springs  for  amusement  and 
diversion,  there  were  a  few  who  really 
came  to  seek  health.  For  three  months, 
the  gay  passers-by  on  the  shaded  walks 
near  the  hotel  had  noticed  one  such,  an 
elderly  lady,  feeble,  gray-haired,  evidently 
recovering  from  a  severe  illness,  who  in 
variably  occupied  a  wheel-chair,  the  mo 
tive  power  for  which  was  furnished  by  a 
most  attractive  young  girl  always  clad  in 
simple  black.  The  girl  was  about  nine 
teen,  slender,  graceful,  with  the  clear  and 
27 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

partly  sunburnt  complexion  which  comes 
from  life  spent  much  in  the  open  air.  Her 
eyes  and  hair  were  brown — her  eyes  large 
and  wistful,  her  hair  light  and  wavy.  She 
wore  no  jewelry,  and  there  was  no  sug 
gestion  of  color  about  her  costume.  Yet 
there  seemed  a  certain  lightness  and  gay- 
ety  in  her  face  which  conveyed  the  impres 
sion  that  sadness  was  not  a  component  fac 
tor  in  her  life.  She  smiled  as,  hour  after 
hour,  she  read  to  the  invalid  on  the  ver 
anda,  and  seemed  actually  to  enjoy  her 
task  of  wheeling  the  chair  back  and  forth 
to  the  Springs  in  the  rear  of  the  hotel. 

Once,  when  a  traveling  man  who  had 
strayed  down  to  the  Springs  for  a  week 
end  offered  the  front  clerk  a  cheap  cigar 
and  expressed  curiosity  as  to  the  name  of 
the  young  lady,  that  obliging  encyclopedia 
explained : 

"Oh,  that's  Miss  Farnum.  She's  old 
Mrs.  Kilpatrick's  companion.  No,  not  a 
nurse — sort  of  poor  relative,  I  guess." 

Whereupon  the  aforesaid  traveling 
28 


OH,  THAT'S  Miss  FARNUM.     SHE'S  OLD 

MRS.   KlLPATKK'K'S  COMPANION." 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

gentleman,  disappointed  at  the  obvious  im 
possibility  of  a  chance  to  speak  to  Miss 
Farnum,  whistled  and  said: 

"Anyhow,  she's  deuced  pretty.  I'd  like 
to  see  her  wearing  a  real  gown." 

Martha's  constant  adherence  to  simple 
black  gowns,  however,  was  due  to  two  rea 
sons.  She  wanted  every  one  to  know  that 
she  was. there  simply  as  a  companion:  it 
saved  her  the  necessity  of  pretending,  for 
other  girls  of  her  own  age,  guests  of  the 
hotel,  made  no  advances  of  a  social  nature 
which  would  have  required  reciprocity. 
Additionally,  and  even  more  important, 
black  was  inexpensive  and  durable. 

For  three  months,  now,  Martha  Far 
num  had  been  the  companion  of  Mrs.  Kil- 
patrick,  a  wealthy  invalid  from  Marion,  a 
small  town  near  Indianapolis.  Mrs.  Kil- 
patrick  was  suffering  from  sciatic  rheuma 
tism,  and  her  physician  had  recommended 
a  stay  at  the  Springs.  To  her  objection 
that  both  her  sons  were  too  busy  to  ac 
company  her,  and  that  she  knew  no  one 
29 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

else  who  could  act  as  a  companion,  the 
doctor  had  replied: 

"I  know  a  person  who  will  be  ideal. 
Her  name  is  Farnum;  she's  the  daughter 
of  an  old  friend  of  mine  who  has  been  in 
hard  luck  for  three  years.  Lives  on  a 
farm  near  here.  Martha  is  the  eldest  girl 
in  a  family  of  seven,  and  I  know  she'll 
jump  at  the  chance.  You'll  find  her  mod 
est,  well-bred  and  well-educated,  with  just 
two  faults" — he  smiled  at  Mrs.  Kilpat- 
rick's  hesitation — "she's  very  pretty  and 
very  poor." 

Martha  had  been  sent  for,  the  arrange 
ments  made,  and  she  found  herself  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  living  at  a  real  hotel, 
with  all  her  expenses  paid  and  thirty-five 
dollars  a  month  besides.  Her  duties  were 
not  arduous,  for  the  hotel  servants  at 
tended  to  most  of  Mrs.  Kilpatrick's  wants. 
She,  however,  read  to  the  invalid,  talked, 
laughed,  sang,  pushed  the  chair  around 
the  beautiful  walks,  and  dined  with  her. 

30 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

Every  afternoon,   while   Mrs.    Kilpatrick 
took  a  nap,  Martha  was  free. 

At  first  the  hotel  life  dazzled  her.  It 
almost  stunned  her.  The  transition  from 
life  on  their  humble  farm,  with  all  its  pri 
vations  and  discomforts,  to  what  seemed 
to  her  a  fairyland  of  lights,  music,  beauti 
ful  gowns  and  jewels,  and  the  wasteful  ex 
travagance  and  display  of  wealth,  seemed 
unreal  and  impossible.  Back  on  the  farm, 
as  the  eldest  of  a  family  of  seven,  she  had 
worked,  endured — and  hoped.  But  in  her 
wildest  dreams  she  had  never  imagined 
such  a  beautiful  escape.  No  one  at  home 
had  had  the  imagination  to  understand 
her.  No  one,  unless  perhaps  her  father, 
had  even  sympathized  with  her  in  her  dis 
may,  when  the  panic  three  years  before 
had  forced  the  little  town  bank  to  close, 
and  a  hail-storm  that  same  summer  ruined 
their  crops.  For  before  that  they  had  in 
tended  to  send  her  away  to  boarding- 
school  at  Logansport;  she  had  even  passed 
her  entrance  examinations.  Then,  all  that 

31 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

had  to  be  forgotten  in  the  poverty  that 
had  followed. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  Martha  was 
seeing  life.  It  was  new  to  her;  it  fright 
ened  her,  but  still  she  was  learning  to 
love  it. 

Mrs.  Kilpatrick  had  been  kind,  and  had 
grown  to  be  genuinely  fond  of  her.  Thus 
it  was  with  a  touch  of  sadness  that  she 
stopped  Martha  pushing  the  chair  up  and 
down  the  veranda  this  same  autumn  after 
noon,  and  mentioned  a  subject  which  she 
had  persistently  ignored  for  three  days. 

"Martha,  dear,  let  me  speak  with  you," 
said  Mrs.  Kilpatrick,  suddenly.  "Bring  up 
your  chair,"  she  added. 

"The  doctor  has  told  me,"  continued 
Mrs.  Kilpatrick,  "that  he  thinks  a  sea  voy 
age  will  be  beneficial.  He  suggests  that  I 
spend  the  coming  winter  in  some  warm  cli 
mate,  preferably  Italy,  and  I  have  decided 
to  do  so." 

Although  uncertain  as  to  just  how  it 
affected  her,  Martha  could  not  restrain 
32 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

her  pleasure  and  excitement  at  the  possible 
thought  of  going.  She  clasped  her  hands 
convulsively,  her  eyes  lighted  up  with  an 
ticipation,  and  she  cried  gladly: 

"Lovely !    And  am  I  to  go,  too  ?" 

Mrs.  Kilpatrick  shook  her  head.  "My 
dear  child/'  she  said  sadly,  "I  am  sorry, 
but  I  shall  be  unable  to  take  you.  My  sis 
ter,  who  is  in  New  York,  is  to  accompany 
me,"  she  explained.  "I'm  afraid  I  shall 
have  to  let  you  return  home  this  week. 
Unless,"  she  added,  "you  can  get  some 
thing  else  to  do." 

"I  must.  I  will.  To  return  home  now 
would  be  to  admit  defeat.  I'll  never  do 
that.  And  we're  all  so  dreadfully  poor. 
I  haven't  any  right  to  impose  myself  on 
them,  now  that  I've  commenced  to  earn 
my  own  living." 

"Perhaps  the  doctor  can  suggest  an 
other  position  for  you,  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Kilpatrick. 

"Perhaps.  Anyway,  I  must  make  my 
own  living,"  declared  Martha,  with  convic- 

33 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

tion.  "Other  girls  are  doing  it;  I  ought 
to  be  able  to.  I'll  go  to  New  York  or 
Chicago  or  some  other  big  city,  and  I'll 
work  at — at  something  or  other,"  she  con 
cluded,  rather  lamely. 

Mrs.  Kilpatrick  smiled  indulgently  at 
her  earnestness. 

"That's  the  proper  spirit,  my  child," 
she  said.  "I'm  sure  something  will 
turn  up." 

Martha  gazed  out  through  the  trees, 
for  at  that  moment  the  lumbering  old 
stage-coach  came  driving  up  from  the  little 
railroad  station  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
with  a  part  of  several  carloads  of  visitors 
who  had  come  on  the  afternoon  train 
from  the  North.  She  was  still  thinking 
rather  dismally  of  this  sudden  change  in 
her  future  when  a  bell-boy  brought  a  card 
to  Mrs.  Kilpatrick. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Martha,"  broke 

in  the  latter,  glancing  at  the  card.    "I  was 

expecting  a  Mr.  Clayton  from  New  York. 

He  is  a  well-known  collector  of  curios  and 

34 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

is  coming  'way  out  here  very  largely  to 
look  at  my  collection  of  scarabs.  I  feel 
a  little  tired  now.  Won't  you  see  him  for 
me,  Martha,  and  show  him  the  collec 
tion?" 

"Of  course,  Mrs.  Kilpatrick." 
"Show  Mr.  Clayton  here,  please,"  she 
said  to  the  boy,  "and  ask  him  to  wait." 
Then,  as  the  boy  departed,  the  invalid 
turned  wearily  to  Martha:  "Take  me  to 
my  room  now,  dear,  then  you  can  come 
back  with  the  scarabs." 

George  Clayton's  thirty-three  years  sat 
lightly  upon  his  shoulders,  though  a  close 
observer  would  have  noticed  that  his  clean 
shaven  face  was  tanned  a  trifle  more  than 
one  would  expect,  and  one  might  likewise 
have  expressed  surprise  to  find  a  slight 
suggestion  of  gray  around  the  edges  of 
his  slightly  curly  hair.  The  athletic  build 
of  his  shoulders  and  the  erect  bearing  in 
dicated  that,  while  he  might  not  be  "the 
hope  of  the  white  race"  from  a  pugilistic 
35 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

standpoint,  he  was  amply  able  to  take  care 
of  himself  in  any  emergency. 

Clayton's  visit  to  the  Springs  was  two 
fold.  He  needed  a  rest,  for  in  the  course 
of  a  law  practice  which  had  developed 
amazingly  in  the  past  seven  years,  he  had 
overworked.  The  only  recreations  he  had 
enjoyed  had  been  temporary,  the  persistent 
pursuit  of  a  number  of  fads.  Though  not 
wealthy,  his  unusual  success  at  law  had 
produced  an  income  more  than  sufficient 
for  his  needs,  and  the  surplus  had  been 
used  from  time  to  time  in  developing  the 
latter.  Just  now  one  of  these  happened 
to  be  Egyptian  scarabs,  and  the  well- 
known  collection  of  Mrs.  Kilpatrick  hav 
ing  been  called  to  his  attention,  he  had 
decided  to  take  a  vacation  and  look  at 
them. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Clayton?" 

A  slender,  girlish  figure,  clasping  a  large 
leather  case,  stood  before  him,  and,  as  he 
smiled  an  assent  and  bowed,  extended  her 
hand  in  cordial  greeting. 

36 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

uPardon  me — I  expected  to  see  Mrs. 
Kilpatrick,"  said  Clayton. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  she  is  not  well,"  said 
Martha.  "I  am  her  companion,  Miss 
Farnum." 

Clayton  bowed  again  and  murmured 
something  unintelligible. 

"Mrs.  Kilpatrick  asked  me  to  show  you 
the  scarabs.  Afterwards  you  can  tell  her 
what  you  think  of  them." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  I  shall  prob 
ably  envy  them." 

uMrs.  Kilpatrick  tells  me  you  are  quite 
a  collector." 

"Yes,"  answered  Clayton,  slowly.  "I 
have  collected  almost  everything  in  my 
time,  except  money." 

"It  must  be  interesting,"  said  Martha 
naively,  sitting  in  one  of  the  easy  rockers 
and  opening  the  case,  while  Clayton  drew 
his  chair  alongside. 

"First  it  was  postage  stamps,"  explained 
Clayton,  picking  up  one  of  the  queer  little 
beetles  and  examining  it  intently.  "But 

37 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

postage  stamps  soon  proved  tiresome. 
Then  came  Indian  relics,  but  they  lost 
favor  when  I  took  up  antique  weapons  of 
war.  Then  I  went  in  for  emeralds  and 
jewels,  but  they  proved  too  expensive.  I 
think  I  have  had  twenty  fads  in  the  last 
ten  years." 

"But  your  business — hasn't  that  suf 
fered?"  Martha  smiled. 

"Not  a  particle.  I've  had  a  glorious 
time,  and  my  clients  who  knew  of  my  fads 
thought  all  the  more  of  me  because  they 
fancied  I  must  be  a  brainy  chap  to  have 
them."  He  laughed. 

"It  must  be  wonderful  to  do  as  one 
pleases,"  mused  Martha,  gazing  out 
among  the  trees. 

Clayton  laughed  again. 

"Even  that  gets  tiresome,"  he  said. 
"The  girl  in  the  candy  shop  never  wants  a 
caramel  after  the  third  day.  Everything 
grows  tiresome  after  a  while.  Now  that 
I've  exhausted  my  list  of  fads,  a  horrible 
future  confronts  me — thirty-three  years  of 

38 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

age,  enough  money  to  supply  my  needs, 
and  no  new  fad  on  which  to  waste  the 
surplus.  What  am  I  to  do?" 

"There's  always  the  Salvation  Army," 
laughed  Martha. 

"Yes,  or  the  Anti-Cigarette  Society,"  he 
responded  lightly. 

A  porter  carrying  two  large  suit-cases, 
each  covered  with  many  foreign  labels, 
crossed  the  veranda  toward  the  waiting 
'bus  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  Another  man, 
evidently  a  valet,  followed  with  more  lug 
gage,  and  then  a  tall,  distinguished-looking 
man  of  uncertain  age  emerged  from  the 
hotel.  He  gazed  curiously  at  Martha,  but 
his  eyes  lighted  up  with  recognition  when 
they  fell  upon  Clayton. 

"Hello,  Clayton,  what  are  you  doing 
here?"  he  inquired  loudly. 

Clayton  looked  up  with  just  a  shadow 
of  annoyance,  but,  with  the  well-bred  air 
of  a  gentleman,  rose  and  extended  his 
hand. 

"How  are  you,  Gordon?"  he  said  easily. 
39 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"I  haven't  seen  you  since  the  Comptpn 
breach  of  promise  case." 

Gordon  winced  at  the  reminder,  but 
gave  utterance  to  a  forced  laugh. 

"You  toasted  me  to  a  turn  that  time," 
he  admitted.  "Do  you  know,  Clayton, 
ever  since  you  had  me  on  the  witness 
stand,  I've  been  wanting  to  engage  you  to 
handle  my  own  business." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Clayton,  coldly. 
"But  I  don't  care  for  your  kind  of 
business." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  prefer  the  kind  where  there  is  never 
a  woman  in  the  case." 

Gordon  laughed  again  uneasily. 

"I  can't  help  it  every  time  a  girl  takes 
me  seriously.  I  offered  to  settle  hand 
somely  then,  fyut  like  all  these  women,  they 
think  because  I'm  rich  I  am  an  easy  mark. 
Now,  if  you'll  see  me  in  New  York — may 
be  we  can  come  to  terms." 

"I  fancy  not,"  replied  Clayton,  briefly. 

Gordon's  eyes,  even  during  this  brief 
40 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

conversation,  had  never  left  Martha, 
whose  attention  was  given  to  her  scarabs. 

"Deuced  pretty  girl !"  remarked  Gor 
don,  quietly,  to  Clayton.  "You  might  in 
troduce  me." 

"Are  you  leaving  the  hotel  ?" 

"Yes — in  a  few  minutes." 

"Then  I've  no  objection.  Miss  Far 
num,  may  I  present  Mr.  Sanford  Gordon, 
of  New  York?" 

"Charmed  to  meet  you,  Miss  Farnum," 
cried  Gordon,  extending  his  hand  as 
Martha  merely  bowed.  "Sorry  I'm  leav 
ing  the  hotel  just  when  I  meet  the  only 
interesting  person  here."  Then,  aside  to 
Clayton  as  he  bowed  to  Martha  and 
passed  out  of  earshot:  "Who  is  she?" 

Clayton  coughed  ominously. 

"She  is  the  companion  of  a  Mrs.  Kil- 
patrick." 

Gordon's  face  showed  his  disappoint 
ment. 

"Oh,  I  say,"  he  murmured.  "A  paid 
companion?  Anyhow,  she's  deuced  good- 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

looking."  He  glanced  back  at  Martha, 
then  turned.  "See  you  in  New  York,  Clay 
ton,  and  don't  forget  my  offer." 

"I  didn't  care  to  introduce  him  to  you, 
Miss  Farnum,"  explained  Clayton,  after 
Gordon  had  driven  away  in  the  'bus. 
"He's  not  the  sort  of  man  I  should  care  to 
have  any  girl  know  well." 

"Oh,  it's  of  no  consequence,"  laughed 
Martha.  "I  have  heard  of  him.  The 
Sunday  papers  have  printed  lots  of  stories 
about  his  little  attentions  to  actresses. 
He's  been  with  that  English  actress  here 
most  of  the  time." 

"He  generally  is  with  some  kind  of  an 
actress,"  admitted  Clayton. 

"Mrs.  Dainton,  I  mean.  Is  she  such  a 
great  actress?" 

"Well,"  sparred  Clayton,  carefully  ex 
amining  another  scarab,  "opinions  differ 
as  to  her  greatness." 

"But  she  must  make  an  awful  lot  of 
money,"  insisted  Martha. 

"She  spends  an  awful  lot" 
42 


Introducing  Martha  Farnunt 

"Isn't  that  the  same  thing  ?" 

"Not  always.  You  have  to  get  the 
money  before  you  can  spend  it." 

"Then  she  has  another  income,  like 
Mrs.  Kilpatrick,  I  suppose?" 

"She  probably  has  another  income,  only 
it's  not  quite  the  same.  In  fact —  But 
I  don't  think  we  had  better  worry  about 
her,  Miss  Farnum." 

"But  I'm  interested.  Perhaps — why, 
perhaps  I  might  go  on  the  stage  myself, 
some  day,"  added  Martha,  suddenly,  as  an 
afterthought. 

"You  go  on  the  stage?"  laughed  Clay 
ton.  "Nonsense !" 

"I  don't  see  why  it  is  nonsense,"  cried 
Martha,  rising  to  her  feet  so  suddenly 
that  Clayton  h?,d  only  time  to  grasp  the 
case  of  precious  scarabs  in  time  to  save 
them  from  a  fall.  "I  must  do  something, 
and  from  what  I  have  seen  of  theatrical 
people  here  at  this  hotel,  they  all  have 
plenty  of  money.  Even  that  Miss  For- 
sythe,  who  dresses  so  loudly,  earns  a  lot." 

43 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

Clayton  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
laughed. 

"My  dear  child,"  he  tried  to  explain, 
"I  know  the  girl  you  mean.  She's  a  show 
girl  in  New  York.  I  saw  her  at  the  sta 
tion  just  now  when  my  train  arrived.  To 
see  her  in  that  elaborate  costume,  you 
wouldn't  believe  that  her  salary  is  just 
twenty  dollars  a  week,  would  you?" 

"Twenty  dollars  a  week?" 

"Yes.     She's  in  the  chorus." 

"But  how  can  she  afford  to  stay  at  this 
hotel  on  such  a  salary?" 

At  that  Clayton  coughed  and  began  to 
sort  out  the  scarabs. 

"She  probably  also  has  an — er — inde 
pendent  source  of  income,"  he  stammered. 

"Could  I  get  twenty  dollars  a  week  on 
the  stage?"  inquired  Martha,  thoughtfully, 
not  noticing  his  confusion. 

"Very  likely,  if  you  are  willing  to  start 
in  the  chorus,"  replied  Clayton. 

Martha  clenched  her  fists  with  determi 
nation. 

'44 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

"Why,  I'd  start  at  the  very  bottom;  I'd 
work  like  anything,  to  succeed,"  she  said 
tensely. 

Clayton  closed  the  case  and  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"Really,  Miss  Farnum,  I  didn't  know 
you  were  so  much  in  earnest  about  it,"  he 
explained. 

"You  see,  my  service  with  Mrs.  Kil- 
patrick  ends  in  a  few  days,"  said  Martha, 
simply.  "She  is  going  to  Italy,  and  there 
is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  return 
home,  and  our  people  are  too  poor  and  I 
must  earn  a  living  to  help  them." 

"So  you  really  want  to  go  on  the 
stage?"  said  Clayton,  thoughtfully.  "I 
wouldn't  advise  it.  There  are  too  many 
dangers,  too  many  temptations." 

"Do  you  think  I  care  for  the  dangers?" 
cried  Martha,  almost  contemptuously. 
"All  of  the  temptations  are  not  on  the 
stage.  The  department  stores,  the  shops, 
the  offices — why  not  think  of  them?  Girls 
work  there,  hundreds  and  thousands  of 

45 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

them.  But  the  moment  a  girl  mentions 
the  stage,  some  one  cries  out  about  the 
temptations.  It's  absurd." 

The  fiery  outburst  of  the  young  girl 
startled  Clayton,  who  realized  that  in  an 
argument  on  this  theme  he  was  likely  to 
be  worsted.  Moreover,  he  was  placed  in 
the  unenviable  position  of  being  obliged 
to  argue  against  a  course  which  he  felt 
sure  would  be  disastrous,  or  at  least  diffi 
cult,  while  during  their  short  talk  he  had 
grown  to  be  genuinely  interested  in 
Martha.  Like  a  prudent  general,  he 
sought  safety  in  retreat. 

"About  these  scarabs,"  he  began,  "I 
should  like  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Kilpatrick." 

Martha's  thoughts,  however,  so  sudden 
ly  directed  to  a  new  channel,  were  difficult 
to  concentrate  on  anything  so  mundane  as 
scarabs.  It  was  several  seconds  before 
she  recollected  herself  and  answered  his 
question : 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  repeated.  "Mrs.  Kil- 
46 


Introducing  Martha  Farnum 

patrick  is  in  parlor  A.  She  said  she  would 
be  glad  to  see  you  a  little  later." 

Clayton  bowed.  "And  I  won't  say  fare 
well,"  he  said,  "as  I'll  surely  see  you  at 
dinner." 

"The  stage,"  repeated  Martha,  dream 
ily,  after  he  had  gone,  sinking  into  one  of 
the  large  chairs  and  placing  both  hands 
to  her  throbbing  temples.  "The  stage. 
Why  not?  Why  not?" 


47 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  GLIMPSE  INTO  THE  PAST 

uTnis  is  the  sun  parlor,  Pinkie,"  cried 
Flossie,  ushering  in  the  girl  who  had  just 
found  a  haven  of  refuge  and  a  sanctuary 
for  the  penniless  at  the  Springs.  "My 
word,  but  we  do  put  on  style  at  this  rest- 
cure.  I'm  having  the  time  of  my  young 
life." 

Pinkie  Lexington  gazed  around  her,  and 
sighed  with  relief.  The  well-dressed 
women  in  the  distance  made  her  instinc 
tively  think  of  her  own  somewhat  be 
draggled  tailor-made  suit,  badly  wrinkled 
from  the  train  journey.  Even  at  its  best, 
it  suggested  the  "Take  me  home  for 
$12.99"  signs  of  the  bargain  counters. 
Furthermore,  Pinkie's  hat  was  of  the  early 
49 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

spring  vintage,  and  the  ribbon  was  faded. 
Her  pride  and  her  glory  had  always  been 
her  hair,  large  blond  masses  of  which 
protruded  from  beneath  the  rim  of  her 
straw  hat,  but  a  visit  to  a  hair-dresser  was 
a  luxury  Pinkie  had  not  known  in  months. 
Added  to  this,  Pinkie  had  become  unusu 
ally  heavy — and  therefore  always  in  need 
of  the  most  perfect  grooming  in  order  to 
keep  up  appearances — and  it  may  be  easily 
understood  that  she  was  not  appearing  to 
the  best  advantage.  This  fact  Flossie  had 
noticed  with  keen  inward  delight,  for  her 
own  smartness  and  prettiness  naturally 
took  on  added  luster  when  placed  in  con 
trast  with  poor  Pinkie's  poverty. 

But  Pinkie  sighed  with  contentment. 
Notwithstanding  a  few  personal  deficien 
cies  of  dress  and  adornment,  it  was  a  re 
lief  to  be  in  a  hotel  where  one  could  be 
assured  of  three  excellent  meals  a  day. 

"It's  grand  to  be  in  a  real  place  after 
those  awful  one-night  stands,"  sighed 
50 


A  Glimpse  into  the  Past 

Pinkie.  "But  I'm  afraid  I  won't  really 
enjoy  it — I'm  on  a  diet." 

"What?"  inquired  Flossie. 

"I'm  reducing,"  insisted  Pinkie,  sadly. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  on  a  diet  last  week 
when  you  were  broke?"  demanded  Flossie. 
"Now,  you  are  here  as  my  guest,  and  if 
you  don't  eat  I'll  be  insulted.  Just  wait 
until  I  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Zinsheimer." 

"I'm  just  dying  to  meet  him,"  said 
Pinkie,  demurely.  "Feathers,  isn't  it?" 

"One  of  the  biggest  importers  in  New 
York,"  said  Flossie,  proudly.  "He's  a 
real  gentleman.  Nothing  but  wine." 

"I  know  I  shall  like  him,"  repeated 
Pinkie. 

Flossie  peered  at  her  chum  suspiciously, 
and  then  laughed. 

"Well,  don't  like  him  too  much.  I  saw 
him  first." 

Pinkie's  large  eyes  almost  filled  with 
tears. 

"Why,  Flossie,  how  can  you  ?  I'm  sure 
51 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

I  don't  want  to  steal  your  gentleman 
friend." 

Flossie  put  her  arm  affectionately 
around  Pinkie's  somewhat  large  waist  and 
laughed. 

"Never  mind,  dear,  I  was  only  joking. 
Of  course  you  know  it  is  understood  that 
Mr.  Zinsheimer  and  I  are  to  get  married 
as  soon  as  my  lawsuit  is  settled." 

Zinsheimer  himself  entered  at  this  junc 
ture,  and  Pinkie  was  formally  introduced 
to  the  generous  feather  importer.  She 
started  to  cry  as  he  patted  her  hand  cor 
dially,  holding  it  just  a  trifle  longer  than 
was  absolutely  necessary,  and  thereby 
eliciting  a  warning  look  from  the  alert 
Flossie. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Zinsheimer,  it's  such  a  relief 
to  meet  a  real  gentleman,"  cried  Pinkie, 
half  in  tears.  "Honestly,  I  could  almost 
hug  you  for  your  kindness  to  a  poor  little 
shipwrecked,  stranded  girl.  I  am  so  help 
less  and  alone." 

"There,  there,  now,  don't  cry,"  pro- 
52 


A  Glimpse  into  the  Past 

tested  "Marky."  "Your  Uncle  Marky 
will  see  that  you  don't  go  hungry  this 
trip." 

At  this  point  Flossie  dexterously  in 
serted  herself  between  the  couple  and 
coughed  until  "Marky"  let  Pinkie's  hand 
drop. 

"Didn't  I  say  you'd  like  him,  Pinkie?" 
she  observed  sharply. 

"Let's  go  over  and  play  roulette,"  sug 
gested  Zinsheimer.  "Maybe  we  can  win 
enough  to  get  Pinkie  a  new  outfit,  eh?" 
And  he  looked  doubtfully  over  the  some 
what  worn  suit  which  was  poor  Pinkie's 
only  possession. 

At  that  Pinkie  sobbed  audibly.  "I'm 
sorry  to  disgrace  you,"  she  wailed,  "but 
the  horrid  manager  of  the  hotel  in  Indian 
apolis  wouldn't  let  me  take  my  trunk  until 
I  paid  him  seventeen  dollars  and  forty-five 
cents.  And  where  could  I  get  all  that 
money?" 

Zinsheimer  patted  her  hand  encourag 
ingly.  "Come  over  to  the  Casino,"  he 
53 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

whispered.  "We'll  try  our  luck  at  the 
wheel."  And  with  Flossie  clinging  to  his 
right  arm  and  Pinkie  to  his  left,  the  genial 
feather  importer  started  toward  the  Ca 
sino.  At  the  head  of  the  stairway  the  trio 
almost  collided  with  Mrs.  Dainton's  foot 
man,  who  was  carrying  the  Pomeranian. 
Close  behind  came  Mrs.  Dainton  herself, 
her  maids,  and  her  manager.  Zinsheimer 
whispered  to  the  girls  quickly. 

"That's  the  English  actress,"  he  said 
quietly.  "I  once  knew  her,  but  we  don't 
speak  now  as  we  pass  by.  Let's  be  real 
supercilious." 

So,  as  Zinsheimer  and  the  girls  passed 
by  ostentatiously,  Pinkie  and  Flossie,  tak 
ing  their  cue,  broke  forth  into  peals  of 
merry  laughter,  while  Zinsheimer  so 
guicjed  the  party  that  Mrs.  Dainton  had 
to  step  to  one  side  to  avoid  Flossie's 
rattling  chatelaines. 

Mrs.  Dainton  sank  into  an  easy-chair, 
and  Victor  hurriedly  adjusted  the  cushions 
for  her  comfort. 

54 


A  Glimpse  into  the  Past 

"I  beg  Madame's  pardon,  but  when 
shall  we  leave?"  inquired  the  obsequious 
personal  manager. 

"I  don't  expect  to  leave  at  all,"  replied 
Mrs.  Dainton,  sharply. 

Anxious  to  get  her  back  to  New  York, 
Mrs.  Dainton's  manager  hoped  this  last 
annoyance  would  move  her. 

"But  the  rehearsals  for  your  new  play," 
he  said. 

"Wire  the  New  York  management  to 
send  the  company  out  here.  We  will  re 
hearse  here." 

Weldon  could  not  refrain  from  an  aud 
ible  expression  of  despair,  being  for  a 
moment  dumbfounded  at  the  thought  of 
the  expense.  Neither  Mrs.  Dainton  nor 
her  manager  noticed  that  a  young  girl  in 
a  simple  black  gown,  who  had  evidently 
been  searching  for  a  magazine  left  in  one 
of  the  chairs,  had  heard  what  they  said. 

"But  if  the  players  don't  suit — "  ex 
postulated  Weldon. 

55 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Send  them  back  to  New  York  and  get 
another  lot." 

"But  that  will  be  very  expensive." 

"What  of  that?"  inquired  Mrs.  Dain- 
ton,  languidly.  "It's  not  my  money." 

Weldon  hesitated  and  then  bowed. 

"Just  as  you  say,  Madame,"  he  said 
weakly.  "I  will  wire  the  New  York  man 
agement."  And  scarcely  able  to  conceal 
his  indignation  at  this  latest  whim,  Wel 
don  withdrew  to  telegraph  their  New 
York  backers  the  full  details  of  her  latest 
eccentricity. 

Martha  Farnum,  still  holding  the  maga 
zine  she  had  recovered,  hesitated.  Then, 
struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  she  came  for 
ward  timidly  to  the  famous  actress. 

"May  I — may  I  speak  to  you  just  for 
a  moment?"  she  asked  nervously. 

Mrs.  Dainton  turned  in  surprise,  looked 
her  over  carefully  from  head  to  foot,  and 
asked  carelessly :  "Who  are  you  ?" 

"My  name  is  Martha  Farnum,  and — " 

"Well?" 

56 


A  Glimpse  into  the  Past 

"I  heard  you  just  now — " 
"It  isn't  a  nice  thing  to  listen." 
"But  I  couldn't  help  it—" 
"You  mean  I  spoke  so  loudly?" 
"No — but  you  spoke  so  distinctly — " 
Mrs.   Dainton    smiled    with    pleasure. 
"The  critics  always  said  my  voice  carried 
well,   and  that  my  enunciation  was  per 
fect,"  she  said,  flattered.    "Well,  what  can 
I  do  for  you,  my  dear?" 

Martha  hesitated  and  stammered.  "I — 
I  am  anxious  to  go  on  the  stage,"  she 
faltered. 

"What  can  you  do?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Dainton. 

"I  cannot  tell  until  I  have  tried,"  con 
fessed  Martha. 

"You  mean  you  have  had  no  experi 
ence?    I'm  sorry,  but  I've  made  it  a  rule 
never  to  give  any  young  girl  her  first  en 
gagement  on  the  stage." 
"But  why?"  gasped  Martha. 
"Because  I  don't  approve  of  their  going 
on  the  stage." 

'57 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Yet  you  yourself  have  won  success," 
argued  Martha.  "And  you  must  have 
started  some  time." 

Motioning  Martha  to  bring  a  chair  and 
sit  beside  her,  Mrs.  Dainton  leaned  for 
ward  impulsively  and  took  her  hands  in 
her  own. 

"You  don't  know  all  that  my  success  has 
cost  me,  my  dear,"  she  said  simply.  "Suc 
cess  is  a  wonderful  thing,  but  the  road  to 
it  is  paved  with  temptations." 

"I  know  all  that,  but  surely  there  must 
be  some  way  to  overcome  the  obstacles," 
insisted  Martha. 

"I  once  thought  the  same,"  mused  Mrs. 
Dainton,  with  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 
"But  there  came  a  time  when  I  hated  my 
self,  and  all  the  world.  Shall  I  tell  you 
a  story,  my  dear?" 

"I  would  love  to  hear  it,"  replied 
Martha,  earnestly,  gazing  into  the  eyes  of 
the  elder  woman. 

"Once  there  was  another  girl,  like  you : 
young,  ambitious,  innocent,"  began  Mrs. 


A  Glimpse  Into  the  Past 

Dainton,  softly.  "She,  too,  was  poor  and 
wretched.  But  some  people  called  her 
handsome.  As  so  many  others  have  done 
under  similar  circumstances,  she  turned  to 
ward  the  stage.  She  commenced  at  the 
very  bottom  in  the  chorus  of  a  London 
musical  production.  The  company  she 
was  with  came  to  America,  and  little  by 
little  she  progressed,  but  oh,  it  was  such 
hard  work  and  the  poverty  was  so  grind 
ing.  Her  salary  was  almost  nothing. 
Soon,  in  this  strange  country,  she  was  in 
debt.  The  landlady  of  her  boarding-house 
was  kind  for  a  week  or  so,  but  the  girl  was 
hopelessly  involved.  Then,  one  day,  a 
note  came  to  the  theater.  She  opened  it, 
and  found  inside — a  hundred-dollar  bill." 

"A  hundred-dollar  bill?"  repeated  Mar 
tha,  wonderingly. 

uYes,  without  a  word  of  explanation. 
The  girl  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  the 
money.  She  could  not  return  it.  She  fin 
ally  spent  it." 

UA  hundred  dollars !"  repeated  Martha. 

59 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"A  few  nights  later  came  another  note. 
Another  hundred-dollar  bill.  A  third  and 
a  fourth  followed.  Flowers,  diamonds, 
a  love-letter,  and  last  of  all — a  man." 

"A  man?"  repeated  Martha,  curiously. 

"The  man  had  a  fortune.  The  girl  was 
penniless.  She  couldn't  repay  the  money, 
for  she  had  spent  it.  The  man  was  kind, 
courteous,  good-looking — in  short,  just  the 
kind  of  man  to  win  a  girl's  heart.'1 

"And  so  they  were  married?"  ventured 
Martha. 

"No,  my  dear."  Mrs.  Dainton  shook 
her  head  sadly.  "They  did  not  marry. 
He  gave  her  everything  money  could  buy, 
and  she,  poor  fool,  accepted  it.  When  the 
inevitable  happened,  when  the  man  left 
her  without  a  word  of  farewell,  she  reaped 
the  bitterness  she  had  sown.  But  the  ex 
perience  gave  her  renewed  energy.  She 
was  determined  to  triumph  in  spite  of  it. 
And  she  did.  She  succeeded.  Years  after 
ward  she  met  that  man  again.  She  saw 
60 


A  Glimpse  into  the  Past 

him  humble  himself  a  second  time  before 
her  feet  and  beg  her  love  in  vain." 

"That  was  splendid,"  cried  Martha, 
clasping  her  hands. 

"It  was  the  only  punishment  she  could 
inflict,"  added  Mrs.  Dainton,  bitterly,  ris 
ing  to  her  feet  and  beckoning  to  her  maid. 
"He  had  made  her  suffer  deeply,  and 
though  she  had  been  proud  of  her  success, 
the  proudest  moment  of  her  life  was  when 
she  publicly  humiliated  the  man  who  had 
deceived  and  wronged  her  in  the  past." 

Martha  rose  to  her  feet,  and  held  out 
her  hand  in  sympathy. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Mrs.  Dainton,"  she 
said  simply. 

"Sorry,  my  dear  child?"  repeated  Mrs. 
Dainton,  cheerfully.  "Why  need  you  be? 
That  was  what  happened  to  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  that's  why  I  will  not  help  you  or 
any  one  else  to  go  on  the  stage." 

"But  surely,"  cried  Martha,  desperate 
ly,  "some  people  succeed  without  pain  and 
unhappiness?" 

61 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

Mrs.  Dainton  kissed  the  girl  affection 
ately. 

"You  are  young,  and  like  all  young 
people,  you  flatter  yourself  that  you  will 
be  the  exception,"  she  said.  "Good-bye, 
my  dear.  I  dare  say  all  my  advice  will  be 
wasted,  for  if  it  is  in  the  blood,  if  you 
have  the  call  of  the  footlights  in  your  soul 
and  the  fire  of  ambition  in  your  heart, 
nothing  can  stop  you  in  your  career; 
neither  the  advice  of  an  old  woman  nor 
the  experience  of  others.  Good-bye,  my 
dear.  Au  revoir." 


62 


CHAPTER  V 

STRICTLY  A  BUSINESS  BARGAIN 

CLAYTON  found  Martha  in  a  corner  of 
the  veranda  ten  minutes  later,  in  a  brown 
study. 

"Here,  this  will  never  do,"  he  began 
cheerfully.  "Is  it  as  bad  as  that?" 

Martha  looked  up  with  an  attempt  at 
cheerfulness. 

"It  is  of  no  consequence,"  she  said  sim 
ply.  "You  wouldn't  understand." 

"Am  I  so  dense  as  all  that?"  he  pro 
tested.  "Any  one  with  half  an  eye  could 
see  that  you  are  in  trouble,  and  I'd  like 
to  help  if  I  can  be  of  any  assistance." 

Martha  looked  up  at  the  lawyer  hope 
fully.  "Mr.  Clayton,"  she  said,  "Mrs. 
Kilpatrick  says  you  are  from  New  York. 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

I've  never  been  there.  A  few  moments 
ago  I  said  I  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage, 
and  you  laughed  at  me.  Now,  may  I  ask 
you  seriously  for  your  advice,  and  will  you 
give  me  a  serious  answer?" 

Clayton  sat  down  by  her  side.  "Fire 
away,"  he  commanded. 

uln  the  first  place,  I  have  firmly  decided 
to  go  on  the  stage,"  explained  Martha. 
"I  have  great  ambition,  I  have  been  told 
that  I  read  well,  and  I  must  make  a  living 
somehow.  That  settled,  the  only  prob 
lem  is  the  way  to  go  at  it.  Will  you 
advise  me?" 

"But  you  are  not  cut  out  for  that  sort 
of  life,"  protested  Clayton.  "You — you 
should  marry — you'll  find  more  real  hap 
piness  there." 

"Have  you  done  that?"  inquired 
Martha. 

"That's  different.     I'm  a  man." 

"Oh,  yes,  and  being  one,  you  think  we 
women  can't  get  along  without  you." 

"No  one  can  live  happily  without  love." 


Strictly  a  Business  Bargain 

"If  you  have  success,  you  don't  need 
love,"  insisted  Martha. 

"My  dear  child/'  Clayton  tried  to  ex 
plain,  "the  greatest  success  means  nothing 
if  the  right  person  does  not  share  it  with 
you." 

Martha  rose  to  her  feet  proudly. 

"I  will  risk  its  meaning  nothing  if  I 
can  only  have  it." 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  inquired  Clayton, 
looking  at  her. 

"Yes." 

"And  you  have  made  up  your  mind  that 
you  must  have  a  career?" 

"Absolutely." 

Clayton  half  laughed  at  her  earnestness. 

"Have  you  any  money?"  he  asked  sud 
denly. 

"No,"  admitted  Martha,  reluctantly. 
"That  is,  not  much." 

"Then  how  will  you  begin?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  will  find  money  very  necessary." 

6s ' 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"I'll  manage  somehow,"  declared 
Martha,  with  conviction. 

Clayton  gazed  at  her  curiously  for  a 
few  moments.  Something  about  the  girl 
must  have  struck  him  as  being  distinctly 
out  of  the  ordinary.  Twice  he  started  to 
speak,  but  each  time  hesitated  as  though 
uncertain  what  to  say.  "I've  got  an  idea," 
he  blurted  out  finally. 

Martha  turned  toward  him  inquiringly, 
but  did  not  speak. 

"I'll  assist  you,"  explained  Clayton. 
"Suppose  I  lend  you  the  necessary  capital 
for  you  to  go  to  New  York  and  live  until 
you  meet  with  this  success  you  are  deter 
mined  shall  come  to  you  ?" 

"Oh,  but  I  couldn't  let  you  do  that," 
protested  Martha.  "People  might  talk, 
and  anyhow,  I  am  determined  to  succeed 
on  my  merits,  if  at  all." 

"Wait,"  interrupted  Clayton.     "This  is 

a  cold-blooded  business  proposition.     If  a 

man  opens  a  store,  he  must  have  capital  to 

start  with.     If  a  miner  goes  prospecting, 

66 


Strictly  a  Business  Bargain 

he  must  have  some  one  'grub-stake'  him 
to  start — that  is,  give  him  food  and  money 
to  last  until  he  strikes  pay  dirt.  In  any 
venture  it  is  the  same;  capital  is  necessary 
— why  not  let  me  capitalize  yours?  After 
you  succeed,  you  can  pay  back  the  original 
investment,  with  regular  business  in 
terest." 

"But  if  I  fail — you  have  no  security." 

"That's  my  risk.  Besides,  I've  another 
reason.  I  have  spent  enough  on  the  dif 
ferent  fads  I've  had  to  send  a  dozen  girls 
through  college.  I've  wasted  thousands  of 
dollars  collecting  useless  things  like  old 
postage  stamps  and  antiques,  but  never 
once  has  it  occurred  to  me  to  collect 
samples  of  character." 

"I  don't  quite  understand."  Martha's 
eyes  were  wide  open  in  amazement. 

"Your  attitude  toward  success  interests 


me." 


"I'm    sure    it    is    justified,"     insisted 
Martha. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen.     It  is  under- 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

stood  that  I  will  start  you  on  this  career 
purely  as  a  business  proposition.  But  if 
I  am  to  furnish  the  money,  I  must  have  the 
controlling  interest  in  the  partnership. 
You  are  to  be  absolutely  guided  by  what 
I  say,  to  be  responsible  to  me,  and  to  fol 
low  my  advice  in  all  things." 

"Won't  I  even  have  a  minority  vote?" 
pouted  Martha. 

"Yes,  but  the  presiding  officer  can  over 
rule  you  any  time  he  wishes.  In  other 
words,  I  shall  be  practically  your — 
your — " 

"What?" 

"Your  guardian.  But  remember — if  I 
start  you  on  this  life  where  you  will  be 
plunged  at  once  into  the  vortex  of  all  that 
is  fascinating  and  attractive,  you  will  per 
haps  find  many  admirers.  No  dragging 
Love  along  with  Success  if  we  should  meet 
him  on  the  way." 

Martha  clapped  her  hands  gleefully. 

"I  shall  be  too  busy  cultivating  Success 
68 


Strictly  a  Business  Bargain 

to  even  recognize  Love  if  I  should  meet 
him,"  she  cried  gaily. 

"Good.     Then  it's  down  with  Love?" 
"Yes,"   responded  Martha.     "And  up 
with  Success." 

"Then  that's  settled,"  responded  Clay 
ton,  in  a  businesslike  tone,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "And  now  I  think  we'd  better  get 
some  dinner." 


CHAPTER  VI 


"WHERE  EVERYTHING  is  HOMELIKE" 


"!F  there's  one  thing  I'm  proud  of  about 
my  boarding-house,"  insisted  Mrs.  Ander 
son,  when  discussing  the  pension  for  va 
grant  Thespians  which  she  had  conducted 
for  many  years,  "it's  the  homelike  atmos 
phere.  Makes  folks  feel  at  home  right 
away,  the  moment  they  set  foot  in  my 
parlor." 

Mrs.  Anderson,  commonly  called  "Aunt 
Jane"  by  the  professional  patrons  who 
came  back  to  her  hospitable  roof  year 
after  year,  was  justly  proud  of  the  affec 
tion  and  esteem  in  which  she  was  obviously 
held.  A  motherly  old  lady  of  not  less 
than  fifty,  a  widow  with  no  children,  Mrs. 
Anderson  devoted  her  entire  time  to  main- 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

raining, an  establishment  which  should  be 
unique.  Actors  as  a  rule  dread  boarding- 
houses.  There  is  something  about  such 
institutions  which  instinctively  causes  a 
chill  of  apprehension  to  run  up  and  down 
their  backs.  Especially  is  this  true  of 
boarding-houses  which  advertise  that  they 
cater  to  the  theatrical  profession.  But  the 
instant  image  of  cheapness,  squalor,  ill- 
kept  rooms  and  badly  cooked  food,  which 
is  conjured  up  by  the  mere  mention  of 
"theatrical  boarding-house,"  has  no  rela 
tion  to  Aunt  Jane's. 

Hers  was  different.  It  is  hard  to  tell 
how,  but  when  once  a  visitor  entered  her 
front  parlor  it  seemed  different  from  all 
the  rest.  Old-fashioned  in  some  respects, 
it  was  strictly  up  to  date  in  others.  There 
was  no  red  table-cloth  on  the  table,  no 
gilt-framed  chromos  on  wooden  easels,  no 
landscapes  in  glaring  colors  on  the  walls. 
Instead,  on  the  piano,  on  the  mantel,  and 
even  on  the  walls,  one  found  neatly 
framed  photos  of  theatrical  celebrities, 
72 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

which,  as  one  could  see  upon  close  exami 
nation,  were  autographed,  with  here  and 
there  a  few  homely  sentiments  of  good 
wishes  "To  Dear  Aunt  Jane." 

Mrs.  Anderson's  establishment,  in  fact, 
was  one  of  the  last  of  a  fast  disappearing 
type  of  boarding-house,  the  extinction  of 
which  will  never  be  regretted  in  spite  of 
the  natural  sorrow  at  the  passing  of  a 
home  with  so  many  virtues  as  that  pre 
sided  over  by  the  estimable  "Aunt  Jane." 
But  modern  apartment  hotels,  in  which 
excellent  accommodations  can  be  had  for 
the  same  price  one  formerly  gave  for  a 
hall  bedroom,  are  numbering  the  days  of 
the  old  brownstone  front  boarding-houses 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  New  York  the 
atrical  district.  Mrs.  Anderson's  was  but 
a  stone's  throw  from  Broadway,  in  a  house 
which  had  once  been  a  feature  of  the  so 
cial  life  of  the  city;  but  day  after  day  now, 
the  grim  sound  of  exploding  dynamite  in 
neighboring  streets  came  as  a  warning  that 
modern  skyscrapers  and  steel  buildings 

73 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

were    gradually    supplanting    the    older 
structures. 

For  twenty-three  years  Mrs.  Anderson 
had  conducted  her  homelike  establishment. 
As  keenly  alert  to  business  now  as  former 
ly,  Mrs.  Anderson  was  careful  not  to  let 
her  house  deteriorate.  Which  explains 
why,  on  a  certain  Saturday  afternoon  in 
mid-winter,  she  was  busily  engaged  in  per 
sonally  superintending  the  rearrangement 
of  the  parlor  furniture  and  the  placing  of 
certain  photographs  on  the  mantel  and  the 
piano.  Lizzie,  the  maid  of  all  work,  en 
tered  with  a  card,  for  Mrs.  Anderson  had 
been  so  absorbed  in  her  work  that  she  had 
not  heard  the  bell  ring. 

"Arthur  Mortimer,  leading  juvenile," 
read  Lizzie,  as  Mrs.  Anderson  turned  to 
ward  her.  "He's  in  the  hall.  Say,  what's 
a  juvenile  f" 

"Refers  to  the  kind  of  work  he  does," 
responded  Mrs.  Anderson,  sharply. 

"Work?"   repeated  Lizzie,  astounded. 
"Why,  he's  an  actor." 
74 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

The  unconscious  sarcasm  of  the  remark 
was  passed  unnoticed  by  Mrs.  Anderson. 

Mr.  Mortimer  turned  out  to  be  a  pleas 
ing  young  chap,  smartly  but  not  expen 
sively  dressed,  about  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  and  very  nervous.  He  twirled  his 
derby  in  his  hands,  and  seemed  quite  em 
barrassed  when  Mrs.  Anderson  beamed  a 
cordial  welcome  upon  him. 

"I — I  am  looking  for  a  room,"  began 
Mortimer.  "I  was  referred  to  you." 

"Are  you  in  the  profession?"  inquired 
Aunt  Jane,  motioning  toward  a  comfort 
able  arm-chair. 

"I  graduated  last  June  from  the  dra 
matic  school,  but  I  haven't  done  much  yet. 
I  couldn't  afford  expensive  rooms — " 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Mortimer,"  in 
terrupted  Aunt  Jane.  "I  like  to  have  be 
ginners.  They  pay  their  bills.  And  I  only 
want  refined  people  who  behave  them 
selves.  Of  course  a  little  impromptu  friv 
olity  makes  every  one  feel  at  home,  and 

75 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

if  there's  one  thing  I  always  try  to  do,  it 
is  to  make  my  house  homelike." 

"I'm  sure  it  is  that." 

"Yes,  sir.  A  real  home,  especially  for 
the  lonely  young  girls  I  have  living  with 
me  here.  Why,  I  have  one  young  lady 
staying  here  now  who  is  under  my  special 
protection.  The  gentleman  who  sent  her 
to  me  said  he  knew  of  my  reputation,  and 
that  he  wanted  me  to  be  a  real  mother  to 
her." 

"I  hope  I  may  be  admitted  into  this 
happy  family,"  ventured  Mortimer, 
smiling. 

"I'm  so  proud  of  his  trust  in  me,"  con 
tinued  Aunt  Jane,  evidently  started  on  a 
pet  theme,  "that  I  never  let  that  girl  out 
of  my  sight — except,  of  course,  when  she's 
at  the  theater.  And  I  have  to  telephone 
him  every  day  and  tell  him  what  she's  do 
ing.  But  how  I  run  on — here's  Lizzie, 
who  will  show  you  some  of  the  rooms. 
Did  you  want  a  big  room  or  a  small 
room?" 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

"That  depends  on  the  price,"  stam 
mered  Mortimer,  rising. 

Lizzie  had  handed  Mrs.  Anderson  a 
telegram,  and  stood  waiting  for  in 
structions. 

"Lizzie,  show  Mr.  Mortimer  the  va 
cant  rooms  on  the  third  and  fourth  floors 
front,"  directed  Aunt  Jane,  tearing  open 
the  dispatch.  "Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Mor 
timer,  do  you  happen  to  have  a  photo 
graph  you  can  let  me  have?" 

"My  photograph?"  repeated  Mortimer, 
surprised  and  flattered.  "I  have  some  in 
my  trunk." 

"If  you  come  with  us  I'll  want  to  include 
yours  in  my  collection  of  famous  actors," 
explained  Aunt  Jane. 

"But  P'm  not  famous — "  protested 
Mortimer. 

"Never  mind — you  will  be  some  day. 
You  see  all  these  photographs  of  celebri 
ties" — she  waved  her  hand — "all  of  these 
people  are  with  me  now,  except  Maude 
Adams,  Ethel  Barrymore  and  one  or  two 
77 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

others.  Somewhere  in  this  house  I  have 
a  photograph  of  every  actor  or  actress 
who  ever  stayed  here.  Fifteen  years  and 
more  I've  kept  them.  Many  a  famous 
star  of  to-day  gave  me  a  photograph  years 
ago,  when  only  an  unknown  lodger  in  my 
happy  little  home." 

"I'll  sure  bring  you  one,"  cried  the  de 
lighted  Mortimer.  As  he  started  toward 
the  hall,  with  Lizzie  as  his  guide,  Mrs. 
Anderson  called  after  them: 

"One  moment,  Lizzie,"  she  cried,  hold 
ing  the  telegram.  "Mr.  Lawrence  is  com 
ing  from  Boston  this  evening  and  wants 
his  old  room.  Be  sure  and  have  it  ready." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  responded  the  ubiquitous 
Lizzie. 

"And  just  a  moment,"  continued  Mrs. 
Anderson,  in  a  confidential  tone,  beckon 
ing  to  the  slavey.  "Go  up  to  the  garret 
and  get  me  that  large  picture  of  Mr.  Law 
rence  we  had  on  the  piano  last  time  he  was 
here." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

78 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

"Here,  take  this  one  with  you,"  added 
Aunt  Jane,  craftily,  picking  up  a  photo 
graph  of  a  blond  man  with  curly  hair. 
"It's  Jimmy  Carlton — he's  gone  to  Cali 
fornia  and  won't  be  back  until  spring. 
Put  this  one  away  with  the  others.  And 
see  that  Mr.  Lawrence's  picture  is  nicely 
dusted.  I  want  him  to  feel  at  home  when 
he  comes  in  and  sees  it  on  the  piano." 

Mortimer,  who  was  busily  looking  at 
the  photographs,  suddenly  saw  one  he 
recognized. 

"Isn't  that  Flossie  Forsythe?"  he  in 
quired. 

"The  very  same,"  answered  Mrs.  An 
derson.  "She's  staying  here,  too — she  and 
her  chum,  Miss  Lexington.  Lizzie;  show 
Mr.  Mortimer  the  house — and  Lizzie," 
she  added  confidentially,  "recommend  the 
fourth  floor  front.  It  ain't  no  more,  but 
the  bath  always  rents  the  third  easier." 

Half  a  moment  later,  with  Lizzie  on 
the  fourth  floor,  the  bell  rang  again  and 
this  time  Mrs.  Anderson  herself  was  com- 
79 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

pelled  to  answer  it.  A  messenger  boy 
with  a  large  box  of  flowers  stepped  into 
the  hallway.  Mrs.  Anderson  took  the  box 
and  looked  at  the  card. 

"For  Miss  Farnum?"  she  sniffed. 
"Humph!  This  is  the  third  time  since 
Sunday  she's  had  flowers  from  somewhere. 
Who  sent  them,  boy?" 

The  snub-nosed  Mercury  gazed  up  at 
her  and  winked. 

"How  d'je  t'ink  I  knows  de  guy's 
name?"  he  retorted. 

"Impudent!"  replied  Aunt  Jane. 

"An'  say,  lady,  I  got  a  note  also  for 
Miss — Miss  Farnum." 

"Give  it  to  me,  then,  you  young  rascal." 

"Nixey."  The  boy  shook  his  head  and 
winked  again.  "Told  me  to  give  it  to 
Miss  Farnum  'erself." 

"But  I  can  give  it  to  her." 

"Maybe  my  eye's  green,  too,"  answered 
the  messenger.    "De  gent  who  give  me  dis 
said  give  it  only  to  her.     If  she  ain't  in, 
I  got  to  come  back  when  she  is." 
80 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

"Miss  Farnum  is  not  in,"  declared  Aunt 
Jane,  indignantly.  "And  you're  a  rude, 
disrespectful  boy,  to  speak  so  to  your 
elders." 

"Well,  say,  when  will  her  nibs  get 
back?" 

"In  about  half  an  hour,"  retorted  Aunt 
Jane,  slamming  the  door  on  him  and  tak 
ing  the  box  into  the  parlor.  Once  there, 
she  peered  curiously  at  the  box.  It  was 
only  an  ordinary  florist's  box,  but  a  big 
one,  and  it  evidently  contained  costly, 
long-stemmed  American  Beauties.  There 
was  a  small  note  attached  to  the  box,  with 
the  name  "Martha  Farnum"  on  the  en 
velope. 

Mrs.  Anderson  debated  about  five  sec 
onds  whether  or  not  it  was  her  duty  to  ex 
amine  the  note.  Of  course  she  had  no 
right  to  look,  but  she  concluded  that  her 
position  as  Martha's  temporary  guardian 
demanded  that  she  examine  carefully  any 
thing  that  would  throw  light  upon  the  per- 
81 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

son  who  was  sending  so  many  flowers  to 
her  young  charge. 

"There's  a  card  inside,  sure,  and  per 
haps  a  name,"  she  argued,  with  easy  soph 
istry.  "It's  my  duty  to  look.  Some  young 
spark  is  trying  to  make  love  to  Martha 
under  my  very  nose." 

She  nervously  tore  off  the  envelope, 
opened  it  and  took  out  a  card.  She  read 
it  and  threw  up  her  hands  in  disappoint 
ment.  The  card  was  blank,  except  for  the 
written  words:  "From  your  unknown  ad 


mirer." 


"Hello!  Blooms!  For  me?"  cried 
Flossie  Forsythe,  resplendent  in  furs  and 
a  large  picture-hat,  bursting  into  the  room 
just  as  Mrs.  Anderson  replaced  the  card. 
"Pinkie,  look  at  the  flowers  some  one  sent 
me,"  she  added,  turning  to  summon  the 
sad-eyed  Miss  Lexington,  who  still  ap 
peared  dejected  and  deserted  as  she  stood 
in  the  doorway,  last  season's  walking-suit 
hanging  unevenly  from  her  highly  devel- 
82 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

oped  figure  and  appearing  a  trifle  tight  in 
certain  spots. 

"I  suppose  Marky  sent  them,15  said 
Pinkie,  dropping  upon  the  sofa  in  disgust. 
"I  wish  some  guy  would  slip  me  a  beef 
steak  over  the  footlights  some  time  instead 
of  flowers." 

Mrs.  Anderson  politely  but  firmly  res 
cued  the  flowers  from  Flossie's  clutches. 

"For  Miss  Farnum,"  she  said  coldly, 
taking  the  box  to  the  piano  out  of  harm's 
way. 

"What  rot,"  ejaculated  Flossie.  "I 
never  seen  a  girl  get  so  many  flowers." 

Pinkie  sighed.  "I  haven't  had  an  or 
chid  this  season,"  she  said  sadly. 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  cried  Flossie,  sink 
ing  onto  the  sofa  by  her  side.  "Wait  until 
the  new  show  goes  on,  and  we  both  make 
hits.  You'll  be  covered  with  flowers." 

"It  will  take  some  flowers  to  cover  me," 
responded  Pinkie,  surveying  her  ample 
girth  with  regret.  "But  what  gets  me,  is 
how  Martha  Farnum  wins  out  with  the 

83 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

boobs  who  send  her  flowers.  Why,  she 
ain't  got  no  style.  And  she's  only  a  be 
ginner  in  the  chorus,  too." 

"But  they  do  say  she's  made  the  biggest 
hit  ever  known  in  the  Casino  since  I  left 
last  spring,"  drawled  Flossie,  carelessly. 

"Pity  you  didn't  stay,  dear,"  smiled 
Pinkie.  "But  then,  of  course,  you  weren't 
in  the  chorus." 

"I  should  say  not,"  cried  Flossie,  indig 
nantly.  "I  haven't  been  in  any  chorus  for 
two  years.  It's  sextettes  or  nothing  with 
me  hereafter,  and  you  know  I  don't  have 
to  work." 

"How's  your  lawsuit  coming  on?"  in 
quired  Pinkie,  innocently. 

"Oh,  the  lawyers  are  still  fighting." 

"Where  is  this  lawsuit,  anyhow?" 

"Oh,  somewhere  out  in  British  Col 
umbia.  You  wouldn't  know  the  name  of 
the  town  if  I  told  you.  If  I  win,  I  am  go 
ing  to  star  in  musical  comedy." 

"And  if  you  lose?" 
84 


]   HAVN'T  HAD  AN  ORCHID  THIS  SEASON." 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

"Back  to  the  sextette,  I  guess,  unless 
Mr.  Zinsheimer  will  star  me." 

"Where  is  'Feathers'?"  yawned  Pinkie. 
"Haven't  seen  him  for  a  week." 

"Never  you  mind  where  he  is,"  retorted 
Flossie,  suddenly  turning  to  her  chum,  sus 
piciously.  "You've  been  askin'  too  many 
questions  about  Mr.  Zinsheimer  lately. 
Don't  you  be  ungrateful.  Remember  all 
I  did  for  you." 

Pinkie  almost  cried  at  this  unjust  in 
sinuation.  "Why,  Flossie,"  she  half 
sobbed,  "I  don't  want  Marky.  The 
idea  of  thinking  I'd  want  to  steal  him 
away  from  my  dearest  friend." 

As  Flossie  consoled  Pinkie  and  apolo 
gized,  Mrs.  Anderson  approached  a  deli 
cate  subject  nervously  but  with  a  deter 
mination  strengthened  by  the  memory  of 
many  similar  occasions.  "Young  ladies," 
she  began,  "I  hope  you  haven't  forgotten 
about  our  little  account." 

"It  shall  be  settled  this  evening,  without 
fail,"  replied  Flossie,  rising  haughtily.  "I 

85 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

am  sorry  if  I  have  inconvenienced  you,  but 
you  shall  have  a  check  after  dinner." 

"You  know  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  let 
the  bills  run  on,"  explained  Mrs.  Ander 
son,  with  that  ever-present  doubt  that  one 
always  has  in  dunning  delinquents,  "but 
neither  of  you  young  ladies  has  been  try 
ing  to  get  a  position." 

"Not  trying,  indeed,"  repeated  Pinkie. 
"We  go  to  the  managers1  offices  every  day, 
but  the  horrid  brutes  will  not  see  us." 

"But  look  at  Miss  Farnum,"  said  Aunt 
Jane.  "She  came  here  without  experience, 
and  secured  an  engagement  instantly." 

"Yes,  in  the  chorus,"  sneered  Flossie. 
"Fancy  us  in  the  chorus,"  rising  and 
glancing  admiringly  at  her  well-rounded 
figure.  "I  want  fines." 

"But  Martha  didn't  mind  the  chorus," 
cried  Mrs.  Anderson,  warmly.  "She  be 
gan  at  the  bottom,  and  if  I  do  say  it  my 
self,  I  am  proud  of  the  way  she  has 
succeeded." 

"Succeeded?"  repeated  Flossie.  "I  guess 
86 


"Where  Everything  is  Homelike" 

she  has,  if  you  judge  by  the  number 
of  times  messenger  boys  bring  her  notes 
and  flowers  and  presents.  I'll  bet  there's 
a  diamond  tiara  hidden  in  those  flowers 
now."  She  moved  toward  the  box,  picked 
it  up  curiously,  and  lifted  the  top. 
"American  Beauties,  eh?"  she  added.  "I 
counted  the  number  of  messenger  boys 
who  came  here  yesterday  to  see  Martha, 
and  how  many  do  you  think  there  were? 
Seven." 

"I  half  believe  she  sends  the  things  to 
herself,"  pouted  Pinkie,  maliciously. 

"She  couldn't,  my  dear,  on  eighteen  dol 
lars  a  week  in  the  chorus,"  laughed  Flos 
sie.  "There's  no  use  talking,  Aunt  Jane 
— Martha  may  have  been  a  little  wild- 
flower  when  she  blew  into  New  York  from 
the  woods  of  Indiana  or  Ohio  or  wherever 
it  was,  but  one  thing  you  must  give  her 
credit  for :  some  one  must  be  awfully  stuck 
on  her." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  HUNDRED-DOLLAR  BILL 

MARTHA  walked  home  from  the  the 
ater.  It  was  after  the  matinee,  in  early 
winter,  the  period  of  the  year  when  upper 
Broadway  is  the  most  wonderful  street  in 
all  the  world.  Crowds  of  smartly  dressed 
women  and  well-groomed  men  surged  to 
and  fro;  taxicabs  and  private  limousines 
darted  in  every  direction;  the  clanging  of 
the  gongs  of  the  street-cars  and  the  shrill 
cries  of  newsboys  added  to  the  general 
confusion;  and  the  lights  of  a  thousand 
electric  signs  glared  brilliantly  in  the  semi- 
darkness  of  early  nightfall.  Shop  win 
dows  tempted  the  passer-by  most  alluring 
ly,  and  Martha  gazed  longingly  into  many 
of  them,  but  shook  her  head  resolutely  at 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

the  mere  notion  of  purchasing  anything. 
This  was  New  York.  This  was  life. 
At  last  she,  Martha  Farnum,  an  insignifi 
cant  atom  from  a  remote  country  town, 
was  on  Broadway,  actually  a  part  of 
Broadway  life,  for  she  was  the  second  girl 
from  the  end  in  the  new  Casino  produc 
tion,  "The  Pet  of  Paris,"  and  for  more 
than  four  months  now  had  been  thrilled, 
fascinated  and  enthralled  by  the  lure  of 
the  stage. 

During  all  these  weeks,  she  had  lived 
quietly  and  regularly  at  Mrs.  Anderson's 
boarding-house.  Clayton  had  met  her  at 
the  Grand  Central  Station  when  she  ar 
rived  in  New  York  and  had  taken  her  to 
the  place,  introducing  her  to  Mrs.  Ander 
son  in  words  which  she  had  resented, 
though  she  had  realized  at  the  time  that  he 
was  quite  justified  in  his  demands. 

"Miss  Farnum  will  be  in  your  charge," 

he  had  explained.     "It  is  understood  that 

she  is  to  do  exactly  as  you  direct  in  all 

things.     She  is  not  to  accept  dinner  invi- 

90 


A  Hundred-Dollar  Bill 

tations  from  any  one,  she  is  to  come 
straight  home  after  each  performance,  and 
she  is  to  go  nowhere  unless  you  accompany 
her." 

These  galling  restrictions  were  now, 
however,  beginning  to  prove  irksome. 
Youth  cannot  be  chained  too  tightly  with 
out  tugging  at  its  bonds.  So  it  was  with 
Martha  after  four  months  of  the  free-and- 
easy  associations  behind  the  scenes,  where 
even  the  best  behaved  girl  will  talk  of  the 
little  supper  at  which  she  was  a  guest  the 
night  before.  In  fact,  the  hard  work  of 
rehearsals  and  the  unusual  hours  which 
the  stage  requires  its  people  to  adopt, 
often  made  Martha  wish  that  she,  too, 
could  have  the  freedom  and  the  privileges 
which  the  other  girls  in  "The  Pet  of  Paris" 
enjoyed. 

Consequently,  when  she  arrived  home 
this  particular  afternoon  and  threw  her 
self  into  a  large  easy-chair,  utterly  tired, 
and  just  a  little  regretful  that  she  had  to 
dine  in  the  somewhat  gloomy,  old-fash- 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

ioned  house,  it  was  not  with  the  greatest 
pleasure  in  the  world  that  she  prepared  to 
answer  to  the  usual  cross-examination  of 
well-meaning  but  sharp-tongued  Aunt 
Jane. 

"Did  you  come  straight  home  after  the 
matinee?"  inquired  the  latter. 

"Of  course,"  answered  Martha,  sleep 
ily.  "There  was  such  a  crowded  house. 
And  so  many  encores,  I  am  dead  tired." 

"You  seem  much  later  than  usual?" 

"Now,  Aunt  Jane,  don't  ask  so  many 
questions.  It's  Martha  this  and  Martha 
that  and  'Martha,  where  have  you  been?' 
all  day  long,  until  I  am  beginning  to  get 
sick  and  tired  of  it." 

"It  is  all  for  your  own  good,  and  you 
know  whose  instructions  I  am  carrying 
out." 

"I  know,"  pouted  Martha,  regretfully. 
"But  don't  you  think  he  is  a  little  unrea 
sonable  ?  How  could  a  bit  of  supper  after 
the  show  hurt  any  one?  Other  girls  go." 

"Has  your  'unknown  admirer'  been 
92 


A  Hundred-Dollar  Bill 

asking  you  to  dine  with  him?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Anderson,  sharply. 

"My  'unknown  admirer'  ?"  repeated 
Martha,  blankly.  "Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"The  one  who  sent  you  these  flowers," 
cried  Aunt  Jane,  bringing  the  box  to 
Martha,  who  gazed  in  surprise  at  the 
splendid  roses. 

"More  flowers,  and  from  a  man  I  have 
never  spoken  to,"  exclaimed  Martha,  read 
ing  the  note. 

At  this  moment  Lizzie  opened  the  door 
from  the  hall  and  entered. 

"If  you  please,  ma'am,  that  messenger 
boy  is  here  again,"  she  said.  "He  wants 
to  see  Miss  Farnum  herself." 

"It's  the  boy  who  brought  the  flowers," 
explained  Aunt  Jane.  "He  has  a  note  he 
won't  give  to  any  one  but  you." 

"How  exciting,"  cried  Martha.  "Do 
have  him  in." 

Messenger  No.  109  winked  his  eye 
maliciously  at  Mrs.  Anderson,  and  tipped 
his  cap  respectfully  to  Martha,  whom, 
93 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

from  the  directions  regarding  his  note,  he 
evidently  deemed  a  person  of  some  im 
portance.  Martha  opened  the  envelope, 
and  a  yellow-backed  bill  fluttered  to  the 
floor.  Mrs.  Anderson  gasped,  Lizzie 
stared,  and  the  messenger  boy  politely 
picked  it  up  and  returned  it  to  Martha. 
It  was  a  hundred-dollar  bill. 

"Is  dere  any  answer,  lady?"  inquired 
109  stolidly. 

Martha  hesitated.  She  looked  at  the 
envelope  again,  then  looked  at  the  piece  of 
paper  which  had  enclosed  the  hundred- 
dollar  bill 

"No,"  she  said  simply.  "Yes — wait  a 
second." 

The  boy  paused  at  the  door,  and 
Martha  whispered  a  few  words  into  his 
ear.  "Do  you  understand?"  she  asked. 

"Betcher  life,"  cried  109.  "I'm  on, 
lady,  I'm  on."  And  with  a  merry  whistle 
and  another  wink  at  the  excited  Aunt  Jane, 
109  made  a  dignified  and  breezy  exit,  fol 
lowed  by  the  surprised  Lizzie. 
94 


"  MORE    FLOWERS    ANJ)    FROM    A    MAN    I    HAVE    NEVER    SPOKEN    TO." 


A  Hundred-Dollar  Bill 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  grimly, 
sitting  with  her  arms  folded,  "I'm 
waiting." 

"Waiting  for  what,  Aunt  Jane?"  in 
quired  Martha. 

"For  an  explanation  of  this  extraordi 
nary  scene.  Who  sent  you  that  money, 
and  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  it?" 

Martha  half  laughed  at  her  earnestness. 

"I  can't  tell  you  just  now,  Aunt  Jane," 
she  said. 

"But  I  must  know.  When  Mr.  Clayton 
brought  you  to  me,  he  asked  me  to  look 
out  for  you,  and  I  mean  to  do  so." 

"And  so  you  have.  You've  been  every 
thing  that  you  could  be,  dear  and  thought 
ful,  but  it's  got  so  I'm  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  entire  company.  I  daren't  take  a 
step  out  of  this  house  but  you  must  be 
fully  informed  about  everything  I  do  and 
everywhere  I  go." 

"Mr.  Clayton  wishes  to  know." 

"If  Mr.  Clayton  wishes  to  know,  why 
doesn't  he  come  and  ask  me?  He  hasn't 
95 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

been  here  more  than  twice  in  the  past  four 
months.  Am  I  to  blame  if  I  wish  some  in 
nocent  amusement?  He  never  thinks  of 
me,  and  when  some  one  else  does  seem  to 
take  an  interest  in  my  affairs,  and  show 
me  a  little  attention,  am  I  to  blame  if  I 
like  it?" 

"You  are  to  blame  for  accepting  hun 
dred-dollar  bills." 

"But  I  haven't  accepted  them  yet.  I 
haven't  been  able  to  return  them  before 
this—" 

"What?    There  were  others?" 

"For  the  past  six  weeks  a  messenger 
boy  has  brought  me  a  note  every  Saturday. 
Each  letter  contained  a  hundred-dollar 
bill." 

"Great  heavens !"  Aunt  Jane  collapsed 
on  the  sofa.  "And  wasn't  there  any  name 
signed  to  the  letters?" 

"Only  the  words  'From  your  unknown 
admirer.'  I  could  not  return  the  money, 
for  I  didn't  know  his  name — until  now. 


A  Hundred-Dollar  Bill 
This  letter  I  have  just  received  gives  his 


name." 


"Who  is  it,  dearie  ?"  inquired  Aunt 
Jane,  confidentially,  coming  to  Martha's 
side.  "Perhaps  I  know  him." 

"His  name  is — but  there,  it  doesn't  mat 
ter."  Martha  turned  away  and  put  both 
letter  and  hundred-dollar  bill  into  her 
handbag. 

"It  does  matter,"  cried  Aunt  Jane,  in 
dignation  and  curiosity  battling  for  su 
premacy.  "This  is  a  very  serious  thing. 
If  a  strange  man  sends  a  young  girl  hun 
dreds  of  dollars,  why,  he  must  be  crazy 
about  you.  Did  he  send  you  anything 
else?" 

"A  few  trifles — some  jewelry." 

"Has  he  asked  you  to  marry  him?" 

"What  nonsense,"  laughed  Martha. 
"He  has  only  asked  me  to  dinner." 

"You  must  not  go,  Martha,"  said  Aunt 
Jane,  decisively.  "You  know  Mr.  Clayton 
wouldn't  like  you  to  take  dinner  with  other 
gentlemen." 

97 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Then  why  doesn't  Mr.  Clayton  take 
me  to  dinner  himself?"  she  cried  pas 
sionately. 

"Mr.  Clayton  has  other  things  to  do." 

"Then  he  must  not  blame  me  if  I  dine 
with  some  one  else." 

"I  refuse  to  let  you  go,  Martha." 

"And  how  will  you  keep  me,  please?" 
demanded  Martha,  petulantly,  not  because 
she  really  desired  to  break  her  covenant 
with  her  self-appointed  backer,  but  merely 
to  see  what  steps  he  might  take  if  she  gave 
evidence  of  breaking  her  parole.  "Will 
you  lock  all  the  doors  and  keep  me  a 
prisoner?" 

"Never  mind,"  replied  Aunt  Jane.  "Is 
this  unknown  admirer  coming  here  to  see 
you,  or  did  you  send  him  word  to  meet 
you  on  the  street  corner?" 

"I  sent  him  word  to  come  here,"  replied 
Martha,  indignantly.  "I  have  no  need  to 
meet  him  elsewhere.  I  have  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of." 

"Very  well,  then,"  retorted  Aunt  Jane, 
98 


I    REFUSE   TO    LET   YOU    GO    MARTHA/ 


A  Hundred-Dollar  Bitt 

going  toward  the  library,  as  the  back  par 
lor  was  ambitiously  named.  "I'll  tele 
phone  Mr.  Clayton  and  say  I  wash  my 
hands  of  you.  If  he  wants  to  keep  an  eye 
on  you,  he  will  have  to  do  it  himself  after 
to-night.  I'll  send  for  him  at  once." 

"You'll  send  for  him?"  cried  Martha, 
gladly. 

"I'll  telephone  him  to  come  as  fast  as 
a  taxi  can  bring  him,"  declared  Mrs.  An 
derson.  "I  guess  that  will  bring  you  to 
your  senses." 

"I  hope  it  does,"  murmured  Martha, 
softly,  burying  her  face  in  the  fragrant 
flowers.  And  to  herself  she  added:  "I 
wonder  if  he'll  come?" 

"Come  right  in,  Mr.  Zinsheimer,"  cried 
the  shrill  voice  of  Pinkie  Lexington  in  the 
outer  hall.  "I  saw  you  clear  across  the 
street  and  hurried  down  the  back  way," 
she  continued,  leading  him  into  the  parlor. 
"Flossie  has  just  gone  out,  but  maybe,  if 
you  wait,  she'll  come  back  soon." 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do,"  declared 
99 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

Marcus  Zinsheimer,  shedding  his  great  fur 
coat  and  peering  curiously  at  Martha,  who 
busied  herself  with  her  flowers  by  the 
piano.  "Who's  that?"  he  added  softly. 

"That's  Martha  Farnum,"  whispered 
Pinkie.  "She's  at  the  Casino  and  that 
haughty — but  I'm  going  to  be  friends  with 
her." 

"As  though  two  chorus  girls  could 
be  friends,"  interrupted  the  knowing 
"Marky." 

"I'm  not  a  chorus  girl,"  corrected 
Pinkie.  "And  anyhow,  she  has  a  very 
wealthy  admirer  who  might  star  her,  and 
if  he  does  I'd  like  to  be  in  her  company. 
See?" 

"Oho  !  That's  the  racket,  eh  ?"  laughed 
"Marky."  "You  may  be  right.  A  ton  of 
money,  an  ounce  of  sense,  a  pretty  girl  and 
a  love-sick  angel  have  made  many  a  star 
in  the  theatrical  firmament." 

"And  while  it  lasts,  I  might  just  as  well 
be   in   the   push,"    added   Pinkie,    wisely. 
"Gawd  knows  I  need  the  money." 
100 


A  Hundred-Dollar  Bill 

"Marky"  surveyed  Pinkie  carefully. 

"Why  is  it  you  are  always  so  hard  up, 
Pinkie?"  he  inquired.  "You  ought  to  be 
able  to  get  a  good  engagement,  but  I  say, 
there  ain't  much  style  about  the  way  you 
dress.  What  I  like  is  style — real  flashy 
style — lots  of  color  and  ginger." 

"I'm  sorry  I'm  so  poor,"  sobbed  Pinkie, 
plaintively.  "But  I  can't  help  it,  Mr.  Zin- 
sheimer.  You  know  the  company  stranded 
and  I  haven't  had  anything  to  do  since. 
It's  very  kind  of  you  to  be  so  considerate, 
Mr.  Zinsheimer.  Would  you  mind  if  I 
call  you  'Feathers'  ?  That's  what  I  always 
call  you  to  Flossie." 

"Well,  if  you  call  me  'Feathers,'  I  won't 
call  you  down,"  replied  "Marky,"  laughing 
laboriously  at  his  own  joke.  "But  now  I'll 
tell  you  what  we'll  do.  Flossie's  out  and 
won't  know  anything  about  it,  so  let's  you 
and  me  jump  into  a  taxicab  and  go  down 
to  some  of  the  shops.  We  can  just  make 
it  before  six  o'clock,  and  I'll  buy  you  a  lot 
of  fancy  things.  Eh,  what?" 
101 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Eh,  what?"  almost  shouted  Pinkie. 
"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Do  I  mean  it?"  insisted  "Marky." 
"Sure.  I've  got  a  taxi  waiting  outside. 
Will  you  come?" 

Pinkie  rose  majestically  to  the  occasion. 
Drying  her  eyes,  and  looking  anxiously  at 
the  parlor  clock  for  fear  that  it  might  al 
ready  be  time  for  Flossie  to  return  before 
she  could  get  into  the  taxicab,  she  grabbed 
her  coat,  without  even  waiting  to  get  a 
hat,  seized  "Marky"  by  the  arm  and 
dragged  him  toward  the  hallway. 

"Will  I?"  she  repeated.  "Watch  me, 
kid." 


102 


I'M  SORRY  I'M  so  POOR"  SOBBED  PINKIE. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SANFORD  GORDON  REAPPEARS 

A  SMART  limousine  car  darted  across 
Broadway,  turned  the  corner,  and  drew 
up  before  the  door  of  Mrs.  Anderson's 
boarding-house.  A  tall,  dark,  good-look 
ing  chap,  whose  erect  figure  was  com 
pletely  enveloped  in  a  fur-lined  overcoat, 
emerged,  and  walked  briskly  up  the  steps. 
Lizzie  answered  the  bell,  and  started  back 
in  surprise  when  the  stranger  calmly 
stepped  inside,  closed  the  door,  slipped  her 
a  dollar  bill,  and  said  quietly : 

"Take  this  card  to  Miss  Farnum.  She 
is  expecting  me." 

"Yes,  sir,"  stammered  Lizzie.  "Will 
you  wait  in  the  parlor,  sir?" 

"So  this  is  where  she  lives?"  mused  the 
103 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

visitor,  shaking  his  head  as  he  looked 
around  the  neat  but  poorly  furnished 
room,  with  its  supply  of  theatrical  photo 
graphs  and  the  large  picture  of  Arnold 
Lawrence,  leading  man,  pn  the  piano. 
"I'll  soon  get  her  out  of  this  miserable 
hole." 

Martha  Farnum  entered,  her  step  so 
light  that  he  did  not  hear  her  until  she 
touched  his  arm  and  extended  her  hand  in 
greeting.  "Mr.  Gordon!" 

"I  received  your  message,"  cried  San- 
ford,  turning  quickly  and  clasping  her 
hand  with  such  fervor  that  Martha  un 
consciously  sought  to  withdraw  it.  "I'm 
glad  you  remember  me." 

"I  remembered  the  name,"  explained 
Martha.  "You  are  a  man  so  much  talked 
about  that  it  is  not  strange  a  little  country 
girl  should  remember  the  time  she  first  met 
so  celebrated  a  personage.  But  when  you 
sent  me  the  note  to-night,  I  realized  for 
the  first  time  that  it  was  you  who  had  been 
sending  me  so  many  presents." 
104 


San  ford  Gordon  Reappears 

"Only  a  few  trifles—" 

"And  so  I  wanted  to  see  you." 

"That  was  kind  of  you,"  replied  Gor 
don,  as  they  sat  on  the  sofa.  "I  have  been 
wanting  to  see  you  all  these  weeks,  but 
somehow  I  didn't  know  how  to  begin. 
Finally,  to-night,  I  decided  to  write  you 
a  little  message  and  see  if  you  remem 
bered  me." 

Martha  turned  toward  him  frankly. 

"I  want  to  know  the  meaning  of  your 
remarkable  presents,"  she  said,  with  the 
utmost  ingenuousness. 

Gordon  laughed  a  trifle,  as  though  to 
dismiss  the  matter. 

"Nonsense,"  he  declared.  "They 
weren't  so  very  remarkable.  A  few  pres 
ents  and  a  little  pin-money  which  I  thought 
might  come  in  handy  for  a  girl  getting  a 
small  income." 

"Such  presents  would  be  appreciated  by 

some  girls,"  replied  Martha,  offering  him 

a  small  packet  which  she  had  held  in  her 

hand,  "but  I  have  no  right  to  take  them." 

105 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Then  you  haven't  spent  anything?"  ex 
claimed  Gordon,  in  surprise,  looking  at  the 
roll  of  yellow-backed  bills  and  the  half- 
dozen  trinkets  which  she  returned  to  him. 

"Not  a  dollar.  I  would  have  returned 
them  sooner,  but  I  didn't  know  who  the 
mysterious  donor  was." 

"Please  keep  the  money,  Miss  Farnum, 
and  the  other  things.  They  mean  nothing 
to  me,  and  think  of  the  comfort  and  pleas 
ure  they  can  bring  you." 

"I  have  no  right  to  accept  anything 
from  you." 

"Then  take  the  money  for  some  one 
else.  There  must  be  some  pet  charity, 
some  deserving  chorus  girl  who  has  a  sick 
mother,  some  fresh-air  fund  you  want  to 
contribute  to.  Please  don't  ask  me  to  take 
back  things  so  freely  given." 

"No,  I  cannot  take  it,"  replied  Martha, 
firmly. 

Gordon  twirled  his  moustache  nervous 
ly  and  peered  curiously  at  her.  Here  was 
a  case,  indeed,  one  which  the  fastidious 
106 


Sanford  Gordon  Reappears 

Sanford  had  never  previously  encountered. 
A  chorus  girl  to  refuse  money  and  pres 
ents  ?  Unprecedented !  How  the  chaps  at 
the  club  would  chaff  him  if  he  ever  told 
the  story.  He — the  best-known  boulevar- 
dier  of  Broadway,  a  welcome  guest  at 
every  Bohemian  gathering,  who  called  ac 
tors  and  managers  by  their  first  names 
and  was  the  most  flattered  and  most 
sought  after  member  of  that  queer  white- 
light  society  of  night  revellers  which  re 
garded  the  setting  of  the  sun  as  the  dawn 
ing  of  a  new  day — he,  Sanford  Gordon, 
virtually  flouted  by  an  obscure  chorus  girl 
whom  he  had  deigned  to  honor  with  his 
attentions?  Why,  the  thing  was  unbe 
lievable. 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  he  demanded. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Martha,  rising.  "I 
cannot  be  under  obligations  to  you  or  any 
one  else,  especially  in  money  matters." 

"Listen,  Miss  Farnum,"  cried  Gordon, 
coming  to  her.  "My  conduct  may  seem 
strange  to  you.  Call  it  a  whim,  if  you 
107 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

like.  But  since  I  saw  you  that  first  night 
at  the  Casino,  I  have  wanted  to  be  friends 
with  you.  Can't  we  be  friends?" 

"Friends?  Why,  of  course,"  replied 
Martha,  sincerely. 

"You  want  to  succeed  in  your  profes 
sion.  Let  me  help  you." 

"What  could  you  do?" 

"I  know  the  manager  pretty  well,  for 
one  thing.  Victor  Weldon  is  going  to 
make  a  few  new  productions  this  season, 
and  if  I  asked  him  to  give  you  a  part,  he 
would  probably  do  it." 

"But  I  want  to  succeed  on  my  merits," 
insisted  Martha.  "If  I  am  to  win  success, 
I  must  deserve  it.  I  should  be  ashamed 
and  humiliated  if  I  secured  an  engagement 
through  influence,  and  then  failed." 

"But  why  refuse  influence?"  protested 
Gordon.  "It  gives  you  the  opportunity, 
and  that  is  something  every  one  must  have. 
Many  a  clever  actor  and  actress  is  walking 
Broadway  to-day  without  an  engagement, 
simply  because  of  lack  of  opportunity. 
108 


San  ford  Gordon  Reappears 

Now,  if  Weldon  offers  you  a  part  in  his 
new  production  at  the  Globe  Theater,  you 
won't  refuse  it,  will  you?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  pondered 
Martha.  "But  do  you  think  I  could  play 
a  small  part?" 

"Of  course  you  can,  and  anyhow,  never 
give  up  without  a  trial.  Weldon  might 
even  offer  you  the  leading  role  if  the  part 
suited  you." 

"The  leading  role?"  gasped  Martha. 
"Impossible!" 

"Not  at  all,"  continued  Gordon.  "I 
happen  to  know  that  in  his  new  produc 
tion  the  leading  role  is  that  of  a  simple 
little  country  girl — just  the  sort  of  in 
genue  you  were  when  I  first  met  you  at 
French  Lick.  The  songs  are  simple.  In 
fact,  it's  a  little  play  with  songs — not  a 
big  musical  production.  Your  very  sim 
plicity  and  naturalness  would  make  you 
splendidly  suited  to  the  role." 

"It  sounds  like  a  dream,"  cried  Martha, 
wonderingly.  "Are  you  sure  Mr.  Weldon 
109 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

would    ever    give    me    a    trial    in    the 
part?" 

Gordon  came  close  to  her.  "If  I  ask 
it,"  he  said  impressively  and  with  a  queer 
inflection  of  his  voice  which  Martha  did 
not  understand.  "If  I  ask  it,  the  thing  is 
done.  Come  out  to  dinner  with  me  and 
we'll  talk  it  over." 

Martha's  heart  sank.  "I'd  like  to, 
really,"  she  said  wearily,  "but  I've  never 
been  out  to  dinner  before,  and  Aunt  Jane 
would  be  furious  if  I  went." 

"You  are  not  responsible  to — your  Aunt 
Jane,  as  you  call  her — are  you?" 

"No,  but—" 

"There  isn't  any  one  else,  is  there?" 

"Yes— no— that  is—" 

"I  thought  you  were  here  alone?" 

"I  am  alone,"  replied  Martha,  with  a 
sudden  outburst  of  rebellion  against  the 
conditions  with  which  she  had  surrounded 
herself.  "I  am  responsible  to  no  one  and 
can  do  as  I  please.  Still — "  she  hesitated 
tearfully,  "I  don't  think  I'd  better  go." 
no 


Sanford  Gordon  Reappears 

"I've  got  my  car  outside.  Come  up  to 
Rector's  and  have  a  bite.  I'll  drive  you  to 
the  theater  afterwards." 

"Oh,  I'd  love  to,"  cried  Martha.  "I 
wonder  if  I  dared." 

"Of  course.    Come  along." 

"But  I  couldn't  go  in  these  clothes,"  ex 
claimed  Martha.  "I'd  have  to  change — 
I've  got  a  little  evening  frock  I  used  to 
wear  to  dances  back  in  Indiana.  Oh,  I'm 
sure  there  can  be  no  harm,  and  even  if 
Aunt  Jane  is  angry,  it  will  blow  over  by 
to-morrow." 

"Of  course.  How  soon  will  you  be 
ready?" 

"In  twenty  minutes." 

"I'll  drive  over  to  the  club  and  return 
for  you.  I'd  wait  here  only  these  board 
ing-house  parlors  are  so  public.  And  that 
reminds  me — you'd  better  move  to  some 
other  place  where  you  can  have  some  com 
fort  and  decent  surroundings." 

"I'm  sure  this  is  very  nice,  and  all  I 
in 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

can  afford,"  replied  Martha,  with  some 
show  of  spirit. 

uOh,  you  can  afford  better  quarters 
when  Weldon  engages  you  to-morrow," 
replied  Gordon.  "Your  salary  will  be  big 
ger,  of  course.  Hurry  up  and  change  your 
togs.  I'll  wait  out  front  in  the  car  when 
I  return." 

Three  minutes  later,  Martha  was  still 
standing  alone  in  the  otherwise  empty  par 
lor.  Indecision  was  written  on  her  face. 
Gordon  had  gone,  but  still  she  made  no 
move  toward  her  room  and  the  changing 
of  her  gown.  The  outer  door  had 
slammed,  and  Flossie  Forsythe  entered 
with  the  usual  harmonious  accompaniment 
of  the  rattling  chatelaines. 

"Hello,  Martha,"  cried  Flossie. 
"Wasn't  that  Sanford  Gordon  just  got  in 
his  limousine  in  front  of  the  house?  Came 
from  here,  too.  I  saw  him  just  as  I  turned 
the  corner." 

"Really?"  replied  Martha,  coldly,  mov 
ing  toward  the  door.  "I  suppose  you 
112 


San  ford  Gordon  Reappears 

know  him  better  than  I  do,"  she  added,  as 
she  left  the  room. 

"Humph,"  murmured  Flossie.  "Stuck- 
up  show-girl." 

"Where's  Pinkie?"  inquired  Mrs.  An 
derson,  entering  to  light  the  gas.  "Hasn't 
she  returned  yet?" 

"Has  Pinkie  gone  out?"  inquired  Flos 
sie,  munching  a  caramel. 

"Yes.  She  drove  off  in  a  taxicab  with 
some  man  half  an  hour  ago.  I  thought  he 
was  a  friend  of  yours." 

"Pinkie  drove  off  in  a  taxicab  with  a 
man?"  Flossie  fairly  shrieked  in  amaze 
ment.  "Will  wonders  never  cease?" 

"I  couldn't  see  who  it  was,"  explained 
Aunt  Jane,  as  the  door-bell  announced  an 
other  visitor.  "But  I  know  it  was  a  man." 

"D'je  ever  hear  the  like  of  that?"  Flos 
sie  shook  her  head  wonderingly.  "Seems 
to  me  I'm  getting  the  double  cross." 

"Well,  if  it  isn't  Mr.  Lawrence,"  cried 
Mrs.  Anderson,  in  the  hallway,  ushering 
in  a  distinguished-looking  individual  with 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

crisp,  curly,  dark  hair,  a  smoothly  shaven 
face,  an  elegant  bearing  and  a  far-away 
look  in  his  flashing,  dark  eyes.  "I'm  so 
glad  to  welcome  you  home  again — for  you 
know  I  like  to  feel  that  all  my  guests  are, 
after  all,  members  of  a  happy  little 
family." 

"And  glad  I  am  to  be  back  in  ^your 
hospitable  house,"  responded  Lawrence. 
"What's  this  I  see?  My  photograph?" 
he  added,  beaming  with  delight  and  gaz 
ing  admiringly  at  the  large  photo  on  the 
piano. 

"If  we  cannot  have  you,  Mr.  Law 
rence,"  declared  Mrs.  Anderson,  feelingly, 
"it  pleases  us  to  always  have  your  photo 
graph  before  us." 

"The  good  lady  is  devoted  as  ever 
to  me,"  thought  Lawrence  to  himself. 
Aloud:  "Ah,  this  is  indeed  a  home  for  us 
actors,  my  dear  Mrs.  Anderson — a  real 
home." 

"This  is  another  member  of  our  fam- 
114 


AND    GJ.AD    1    AM    TO    BE    BACK    IX    YOUR    H<  >«I'1TABLE    HOUSE/ 


Sanford  Gordon  Reappears 

ily,"  explained  Aunt  Jane.  "Miss  Flossie 
Forsythe,  Mr.  Lawrence." 

"How  do  you  do?"  Lawrence  curtly 
acknowledged  the  introduction. 

"I  seen  you  in  Harlem  once,"  replied 
Flossie,  admiringly.  "I  recognized  you  at 
once  by  your  photograph." 

"Indeed?  I  believe  my  features  are 
somewhat  familiar  to  the  general  public." 

"Oh,  I'm  in  the  profession,  too,"  added 
Flossie,  proudly. 

"Indeed?    The  chorus?" 

"Why,  the  idea—" 

"For  my  part,  I  am  not  one  of  those 
who  regard  the  chorus  as  a  legitimate 
branch  of  the  acting  profession.  It  is 
something  beyond  the  strict  limits  of  our 
art,  like  the  scene  painter,  the  property 
master,  the  musician.  The  actor  is  a 
thing  apart." 

Flossie  collapsed  on  the  sofa  as  he  dis 
appeared  into  the  hall  with  Mrs.  An 
derson.  "Well,  wouldn't  that  give  you 
tonsillitis!"  she  ejaculated. 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

The  door  from  the  hall  was  suddenly 
thrown  open  as  though  Hercules  had 
brushed  it  aside  as  he  would  a  fly,  and 
Pinkie  Lexington  burst  into  the  room  look 
ing  like  a  rainbow.  In  place  of  the  old, 
dilapidated  traveling  suit,  she  wore  a 
smart  new  gown  of  purple  velvet.  A  hat 
with  a  gorgeous  purple  plume  almost  con 
cealed  her  face,  and  round  her  shoulders 
hung  an  elaborate  set  of  furs.  Close  be 
hind  this  gorgeous  apparition  was 
"Marky"  Zinsheimer,  a  trifle  nervous  and 
ill  at  ease  at  suddenly  finding  so  many 
persons  around. 

"Hello,  everybody,"  cried  Pinkie. 
"How  do  you  like  my  rig?" 

"Pinkie !"  shouted  Flossie,  aghast.  "Is 
it  really  you?" 

"For  the  love  of  Heaven!"  declared 
Mrs.  Anderson,  following  her  in  and 
clasping  her  hands  together  in  mute  ad 
miration. 

"Stunning,  by  Jove!"  Even  Arnold 
116 


Sanford  Gordon  Reappears 

Lawrence    was    moved    to    positive    ad 
miration. 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  manager  who  refuses 
me  an  engagement  when  I  drag  these  togs 
into  his  office,"  cried  Pinkie,  proudly  pir 
ouetting  to  show  the  outfit  from  all  sides. 

"You  look  like  ready  money,  my  dear," 
gasped  Flossie.  "But  where  on  earth  did 
you  get  the  junk?" 

"Never  you  mind,"  replied  Pinkie,  ob 
viously  embarrassed. 

"Mrs.  Anderson  said  you  went  out  rid 
ing  in  a  taxi  with  a  man,"  said  Flossie, 
wonderingly.  Then,  as  her  eyes  for  the  first 
time  fell  on  Zinsheimer,  who  was  trying 
to  edge  toward  the  door  and  escape  un 
noticed,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  pointed  her 
finger  at  the  shrinking  "Marky,"  and 
screamed:  "With  him?" 

"None  of  your  business,"  retorted 
Pinkie. 

"Marky,     have    you    been    out    with 
Pinkie?"  cried  Flossie.     "Answer  me." 
117 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"That's  the  man.  Certainly,"  declared 
Mrs.  Anderson. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  stammered 
"Marky."  "I  just  took  Pinkie  down  to  a 
few  of  the  stores,  and  there  you  are." 

"Oh,  you  cat!"  cried  Flossie,  stamping 
her  foot  and  clenching  her  fists.  "You 
hypocrite !" 

"Now  see  here,  I  thought  you  girls  was 
friends,"  began  Zinsheimer.  "Kiss  and 
make  up,  girls." 

"I  won't  call  any  one  names,"  re 
sponded  Pinkie,  with  the  air  of  a  martyr. 
"She  has  insulted  me,  but  I  will  forgive 
her  if  she  apologizes.  Marky,  tell  her  to 
apologize." 

"Never!"  cried  Flossie,  swinging  in  a 
circle  so  abruptly  that  the  rattling  chate 
laines  shot  out  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees.  "  I  will  never  speak  to  her  again, 
or  to  you  either,  Marky  Zinsheimer.  I'm 
through  with  both  of  you.  In  all  my  stage 
career  this  is  the  crowning  disappointment. 
118 


Sanford  Gordon  Reappears 

Oh,  the  degradation !  To  be  cut  out  by  a 
fat  blonde !" 

"Marky"  Zinsheimer  edged  toward  the 
door. 

"This,"  he  declared,  "is  where  Marky 
Zinsheimer  exits  smilingly." 


119 


CHAPTER  IX 

LOVE  AND  AMBITION 

"AND  I  can't  do  a  thing  with  her,"  con 
cluded  Aunt  Jane,  in  her  recital  of 
Martha's  shortcomings,  while  Clayton  lis 
tened  with  an  amused  air  at  the  story  of 
his  ward's  latest  adventure.  "She's  head 
strong  and  unreliable,  and  though  I  love 
her  as  I  would  my  own  daughter,  I  think 
it  is  time  for  you  to  talk  to  her  seriously. 
When  a  chorus  girl  commences  to  receive 
hundred-dollar  bills  and  diamonds,  she 
can't  stay  in  my  house  until  I  know  who 
sends  them,  and  why.  That's  all.  That's 
why  I  telephoned  you  to  come  right  over." 

"I'm  glad  you  'phoned  me,  Aunt  Jane," 
said  Clayton.  "I  missed  a  pretty  impor 
tant  business  engagement  at  dinner  to  be 
121 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

here,  but  I  gathered  from  your  message 
that  something  important  had  developed. 
I  fancy  Martha  will  tell  us  all  about  it. 
After  all,  it's  no  crime  to  admire  Martha. 
I  admire  her  myself.  The  change  in  her 
has  been  wonderful.  I  had  no  idea  when 
I  first  brought  her  here  that  a  few  months 
in  New  York  would  result  in  such  swift 
development." 

"It's  been  swift  all  right,  Mr.  Clayton. 
I'll  tell  her  you're  here." 

Clayton  awaited  Martha's  coming  with 
mingled  emotions  of  pleasure  and  regret, 
pleasure  at  seeing  her,  for  he  had  grown 
genuinely  to  like  and  admire  her;  regret, 
for  he  feared  she  was  beginning  to  find  her 
self-imposed  bonds  a  trifle  wearisome.  In 
that  case,  of  course,  their  compact  would 
be  at  an  end,  for,  though  their  arrange 
ment  had  not  contemplated  any  incident 
which  would  lead  to  a  breaking  of  their 
contract,  it  was  obvious  that  Martha  could 
not  expect  him  to  ignore  calmly  a  viola 
tion  of  it.  His  own  self-respect  made  this 
122 


Love  and  Ambition 

impossible.  He  would  have  to  protest, 
and  by  protesting,  perhaps  lose  completely 
any  influence  he  might  have  over  her. 

The  months  that  had  passed  since  he 
first  agreed  to  finance  Martha's  venture 
into  the  realm  of  theatricals  had  been 
months  of  uneasiness.  Time  and  again 
he  had  resolved  to  visit  her,  talk  with  her, 
find  out  what  progress  she  was  making; 
yet  each  time  he  feared  he  might  inject  too 
personal  an  interest  into  these  inquiries. 
That  had  been  their  agreement:  "Down 
with  love  and  up  with  ambition.'*  He  had 
warned  her  of  the  wayward  influences  of 
love  at  a  time  when  the  possibility  of  car 
ing  for  her  himself  had  never  entered  his 
head.  "I  suppose,"  he  had  said  to  himself 
a  dozen  times,  "she'll  fall  in  love  with 
some  actor  and  marry  him  without  even 
bothering  to  let  me  know."  This  idea  first 
awakened  the  possibility  that  he  might 
keenly  regret  such  an  indiscretion  on  her 
part.  Then  came  the  ardent  desire  to  see 
her  himself,  advise  her,  and  protect  her 
123 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

from  the  pitfalls  of  her  profession.  But  he 
had  dismissed  this  as  a  subterfuge  invented 
by  himself  as  an  excuse  for  seeing  her. 

"No,"  he  had  concluded.  "I  will  stick 
by  my  bargain.  I  am  making  an  experi 
ment  in  character  development,  and  I  will 
not  let  my  personal  sentiment  affect  my 
judgment  as  a  business  man.  I  agreed  to 
aid  her  until  she  can  become  self-support 
ing,  or  admits  that  she  is  a  failure.  So 
long  as  she  keeps  her  part  of  the  contract, 
I  will  keep  mine." 

Another  and  more  powerful  reason  for 
absenting  himself  from  all  neighborhoods 
where  he  might  meet  her,  and  especially 
from  Mrs.  Anderson's  boarding-house, 
was  the  fear  that  she  might  consider  him 
in  the  light  of  a  benefactor  to  whom  she 
was  under  obligations.  This  galled  him — 
to  think  that  she  might  be  outwardly  cor 
dial  while  secretly  bored.  For  Clayton 
was  modest  enough  to  believe  that  his  un 
assuming  airs  and  reticent  ways  would 
124 


Love  and  Ambition 

not  prove  attractive  to  a  high-spirited  girl 
so  many  years  his  junior. 

"What  a  surprise,"  cried  Martha,  en 
tering  the  parlor  suddenly.  She  was 
dressed  for  the  street.  In  fact,  had  Clay 
ton  been  a  few  minutes  later,  he  would 
have  missed  her  altogether,  for  Aunt  Jane 
had  announced  his  visit  just  in  the  nick  of 
time. 

"Hello,"  said  Clayton,  greeting  her 
cordially.  "What's  the  trouble  between 
you  and  Aunt  Jane  ?" 

"Trouble?"  repeated  Martha.  "There 
isn't  any." 

"Then  what  did  she  mean  by  telephon 
ing  that  you  were  getting  a  bit  too  wild 
for  her?" 

"She  dared  to  say  that?"  exclaimed 
Martha,  indignantly.  "Oh,  and  so  she 
telephoned  you  to  come  and — and  tame 
me — I  suppose?" 

"Not  exactly  that,"  replied  Clayton, 
smiling.  "She  did  'phone  me,  but  that 
was  only  in  accordance  with  my  instruc- 
125 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

tions.  I  have  always  felt  that,  as  I  am 
responsible  for  your  being  in  New  York, 
it  was  my  duty  to  look  after  you.  But 
that  is  only  part  of  our  agreement,  you 
know.  I  was  to  advance  you  all  the  money 
necessary,  keeping  a  strict  account  of 
every  penny,  and  you  in  return  were  to 
take  my  advice,  and  when  you  became 
famous — repay  the  loan." 

"When  I  become  famous?"  mused 
Martha,  sinking  onto  the  sofa.  "I  won 
der  if  I  ever  will?" 

"Of  course,"  cried  Clayton,  encourag 
ingly.  "And  I  want  to  help  you  all  I  can." 

Martha  turned  her  large  eyes  toward 
him  appealingly. 

"Then  why  don't  you  come  to  see  me 
oftener?"  she  asked  softly. 

"That  wasn't  in  the  agreement,"  smiled 
Clayton.  "And  I  hardly  thought  you'd 
have  any  time  for  a  mere  man." 

"After  all  you've  done  for  me,  it  would 
be  strange  if  I  didn't  take  time  for  you," 
126 


Love  and  Ambition 

replied  Martha.     Clayton  shifted  uneasily 
as  she  spoke. 

"That  sounds  like  Thank  you;  sir/  " 
he  said. 

"And  I  have  to  stop  work  sometimes, 
to  eat"  added  Martha,  maliciously,  and 
glancing  at  him  as  though  trying  to 
convey  a  subtle  hint.  "And  I  hate  to  eat 
alone.  I  hate  to  eat  dinner  at  Aunt  Jane's 
all  the  time.  I've  wanted  to  go  out  to 
dinner  so  many  times  since  I've  been  in 
New  York,  but  I  never  had  any  one  invite 
me,  until  to-day." 

"Hm !  That's  the  cause  of  the  row  with 
Aunt  Jane?" 

"She  didn't  like  the  idea." 

"Some  masculine  admirer,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  he  is,"  replied  Martha,  defiantly. 

"Who  is  he?" 

As  she  turned  away  without  response, 
Clayton  added:  "Martha,  who  is  he?" 

"One  you  yourself  introduced  to  me," 
she  replied  shortly. 

"I?"     He    pondered    a    moment,    sur- 
127 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

prised.  "Not  Sanford  Gordon?"  he  said 
finally,  and  only  by  an  effort  suppressing  a 
faint  "Damn." 

"Yes,"  declared  Martha.  "I  am  going 
out  with  him  to  dinner  now." 

"Not  with  my  consent,"  declared  Clay 
ton,  emphatically. 

"And  why  not,  please?" 

"For  many  reasons,"  he  said,  sitting  be 
side  her.  "Frankly,  how  long  has  this 
been  going  on?" 

"About  three  months,  if  you  must 
know,"  replied  Martha,  bristling  a  little 
at  his  inquisition. 

"Have  you  seen  him  often?" 

"To-day  was  the  first  time." 

"He  has  written  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Sent  you  presents,  I  suppose?" 

"A  few  pieces  of  jewelry.  Every  week 
he  has  sent  me  an  envelope.  Inside,  with 
a  blank  piece  of  paper,  was  a  hundred-dol 
lar  bill.  I  never  knew  until  to-day  who 
sent  them." 

128 


Love  and  Ambition 

"What  have  you  done  with  these 
things?" 

"I  handed  them  all  back  to  him,  in  this 
room,  half  an  hour  ago.  I  told  him  I 
could  accept  nothing  from  him,  but  finally 
I  agreed  to  go  to  dinner  with  him  to 
night.  He's  probably  waiting  out  front 
now,  in  his  car." 

Clayton  rose  to  his  feet  nervously  and 
paced  the  floor. 

"What  else  did  he  say?"  he  inquired. 

"He  was  very  nice  and  respectful.  He 
offered  to  speak  to  Mr.  Weldon,  the  man 
ager,  and  get  me  a  new  part — perhaps  the 
leading  part — in  his  new  production." 

"So  that's  his  little  game,  is  it?"  said 
Clayton,  still  more  annoyed.  "Money 
and  jewels  returned,  his  next  bribe  is  an 
engagement.  How  do  you  know  you  could 
play  the  part?" 

"I    might    succeed,"    pouted    Martha. 
"And  even  a  star  who  tries  and  fails,  can 
never  forget  that  she  did  star — once." 
129 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"And  so  your  success  means  more  to 
you  than  anything  else  that  life  can  offer?" 

Martha's  eyes  were  still  fired  by  the 
light  of  her  ambition.  "Yes,"  she  said. 

"If  you  please,  Miss,"  interrupted  Liz 
zie,  entering  at  that  moment,  "Mr.  Gor 
don  is  outside  in  his  car,  and  wants  to  know 
if  you  will  be  ready  soon." 

"Tell  him—"  began  Martha.  Then 
she  hesitated,  looking  doubtfully  at  Clay 
ton,  who  came  close  to  her  as  though 
awaiting  her  decision  on  a  momentous 
matter. 

"Martha,"  he  asked,  "are  you  still  de 
termined  to  keep  this  dinner  engagement 
with  Gordon?" 

"Why  not?"  Martha  seemed  to  take 
a  keen  delight  in  arousing  his  displeasure. 
"There's  no  harm  in  it,  and  Mr.  Gordon 
has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"As  lie  has  been  to  the  others — before 
you,"  said  Clayton,  bitterly,  almost  sav 
agely. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 
130 


Love  and  Ambition 

"Never  mind.  If  I  can't  convince  you 
without  blackguarding  him,  I'll  let  you  go. 
I  only  ask  you  to  trust  me,  and  believe 
that  I  am  doing  my  best — for  you."  Clay 
ton  paused  doubtfully.  "If  you  hate  to  eat 
dinner  alone,"  he  added  suddenly,  as  an 
afterthought,  "so  do  I.  Martha,  come 
with  me." 

"But  I  promised  Mr.  Gordon.  He's 
waiting." 

"But  remember,  you  have  a  contract 
with  me." 

"Yes,"  replied  Martha,  half  angrily. 
"With  a  friend.  Not  a  jailer.  Good 
night." 

Martha  started  toward  the  door,  but 
Clayton  raised  his  hand  and  she  hesitated, 
as  he  blocked  the  way. 

"Well?"  she  demanded  defiantly. 

"You  can  choose  between  him  and  me," 
declared  Clayton,  hotly.  "But  you've  got 
to  choose.  If  you  go  with  him,  breaking 
your  contract,  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  business.  Now,  choose." 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

Martha  met  his  gaze  squarely,  half 
angrily,  half  contemptuously.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  waiting  maid. 

"Lizzie, "  she  said,  clearly  and  distinctly, 
"ask  Mr.  Gordon — "  Yet,  even  as  she 
spoke  her  voice  faltered,  she  looked  at 
Clayton,  and  added,  dropping  her  eyes, 
in  an  almost  inaudible  undertone:  " — to 


excuse  me." 


Clayton  took  her  arm  eagerly,  and  she 
looked  up  again  into  his  face. 

"You  brute,'7  she  said,  but  she  laughed 
when  she  said  it. 


132 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    UNDERGROUND   WIRES 

THE  sign  on  the  door  of  Suite  1239 
in  the  Knickerbocker  Theater  Building 
bore  the  legend,  in  plain  black  letters : 


VICTOR  WELDON 
Theatrical  Manager 


Suite  1239  was  really  two  small  rooms, 
an  outer  and  an  inner  office.  The  outer 
office,  overlooking  busy  Broadway,  which 
seethed  and  simmered  its  hurrying  crowds 
far  below,  was  divided  into  two  parts  by 
a  railing.  On  one  side  two  long  benches 
served  as  havens  of  rest  for  weary  stage- 
folk  in  search  of  engagements.  Ever  and 
133 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

anon  one,  two,  or  even  three  players,  per 
haps  chorus  girls,  perhaps  actors,  perhaps 
character  women,  would  enter  timidly, 
look  around  the  office  as  though  expecting 
the  imperial  Jove  to  hurl  thunderbolts  at 
them  for  their  presumption  in  thus  in 
vading  the  sacred  precincts,  and  then  trem 
blingly  ask  the  red-haired  stenographer  on 
the  other  side  of  the  rail : 

uls  Mr.  Weldon  engaging  any  one?" 

And  the  red-haired  stenographer,  in 
variably  without  looking  up  from  her  ma 
chine,  would  reply: 

"Nothing  doing  to-day." 

Sometimes  this  routine  would  vary  a 
trifle,  in  case  Mr.  Weldon,  for  reasons  of 
his  own,  wished  to  have  his  office  appear 
like  a  busy  mart.  Then  the  stenographer 
would  say : 

"Mr.  Weldon  is  very  busy  now,  but  if 
you  want  to  wait,  perhaps  you  can  see 
him." 

This  left-handed  invitation,  containing 
only  the  slightest  ray  of  hope  that  perhaps 
134 


The  Underground  Wires 

the  great  manager  would  engage  some  one 
for  something,  was  invariably  pounced 
upon  eagerly,  for  actors  undergoing  that 
sad  daily  routine  known  as  "making  the 
rounds, "  knew  to  their  sorrow  that  invita 
tions  even  to  sit  down  and  wait  were  few 
and  far  between.  The  "Call  to-morrow" 
slogan  was  the  more  usual  excuse  in  get 
ting  rid  of  applicants.  In  a  profession  as 
overcrowded  as  the  theatrical  business 
there  are  thirty  applicants  for  every  pos 
sible  position,  but  still  the  unsuccessful 
ones  keep  on  "making  the  rounds"  on  the 
chance  that  sooner  or  later  they  will  be 
engaged. 

Mr.  Weldon's  private  reasons  for  wish 
ing  his  outer  office  to  be  filled  at  certain 
times  possibly  had  something  to  do  with 
the  fact  that  on  these  occasions  certain 
smartly  dressed,  prosperous  men  called  on 
business  and  were  instantly  admitted  to 
the  inner  office.  Then  the  stenographer, 
having  had  her  cues,  would  drop  some 
casual  remark  about  "The  backer  of  the 

135 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

new  show,"  whereupon  the  professionals 
would  become  more  alert  at  the  prospect 
of  "Something  doing."  Of  course,  con 
versely,  the  mysterious  "backers"  were  im 
pressed  by  the  stage  setting  of  an  outer 
office  of  players  looking  for  engagements 
from  the  great  Mr.  Weldon. 

Contrary  to  the  popular  idea,  based 
mainly  on  the  comic  weeklies,  theatrical 
backers  or  "angels"  are  comparatively 
rare.  Therefore,  Victor  Weldon's  line  of 
procedure  since  Mrs.  Dainton  had  abrupt 
ly  closed  her  American  tour  because  of  the 
illness  of  her  Pomeranian  pup,  had  been 
exceedingly  uncertain.  He  had  planned 
various  productions  on  his  own  account, 
and  he  had  endeavored  unsuccessfully  to 
interest  certain  financial  gentlemen  of  the 
Wall  Street  district  in  the  merits  of  two 
or  three  plays  he  had  read.  One  of  them 
in  particular,  a  simple  little  comedy  of 
peasant  life  in  Germany,  with  two  or  three 
songs,  had  greatly  impressed  him.  It  was 
of  Viennese  origin,  skillfully  translated 

136 


The  Underground  Wires 

and  adapted,  but  preserving  the  Viennese 
atmosphere  and  characters.  Entitled 
"The  Village  Girl,"  the  central  role  was 
that  of  a  peasant  girl  who  fell  in  love  with 
a  prince  when  the  latter  was  hunting  in 
disguise  as  a  mere  woodsman.  After 
wards,  meeting  him  at  the  state  ball  face 
to  face  in  his  gorgeous  uniform,  she,  by 
renouncing  her  love  for  him  because  of 
his  rank  and  title,  ultimately  led  the  old 
Emperor  to  relent  and  give  his  consent  to 
their  marriage. 

"Good  plot,"  murmured  Weldon,  after 
reading  it  in  his  private  office.  "The  old 
stuff  like  this  always  goes  with  the  public. 
There's  a  plot  that  must  succeed,  because 
it  has  never  been  known  to  fail.  I  can  pro 
duce  this  play  and  make  a  barrel  of  money 
if  I  can  only  find  a  backer.  I  wonder  if 
I  couldn't  rope  Gordon  in  on  this?" 

Which  explains  why  Sanford  Gordon 
had  already  heard  of  the  play  at  the  time 
he  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Martha, 
and  further  explains  the  fact  that  three 

137 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

days  later  he  was  closeted  with  Weldon  in 
the  inner  private  office  of  Suite  1239  in 
the  Knickerbocker  Theater  Building. 

"It  will  cost  about  twenty  thousand 
cold,  before  we  ring  up  the  curtain,"  ex 
plained  Weldon,  skillfully  calculating  with 
the  aid  of  a  pencil  and  a  pad  of  paper. 
"It  will  take  about  seven  thousand  for 
the  production,  including  costumes  and 
uniforms.  Everything  is  Viennese  this 
season,  so  we  must  get  the  correct  at 
mosphere.  Advertising  and  printing  may 
take  up  two  or  three  thousand  more,  and 
then  we'll  probably  have  to  guarantee  at 
least  twenty-five  hundred  to  the  theater  we 
select.  I'd  like  to  get  a  classy  theater  like 
the  Globe,  where  they  have  ushers  in  Eng 
lish  military  uniforms,  and  society  people 
always  go  there  because  some  one  tipped 
them  off  that  it  was  the  society  theater  of 
New  York.  But  it  might  take  a  little  more 
money  to  get  the  Globe." 

"Get  the  Globe  by  all  means,"  said  Gor 
don.  "A  few  thousand  more  or  less  mean 

138 


The   Underground  Wires 

nothing  if  the  thing  is  a  hit,  and  if  it  is  a 
failure,  I  guess  I  can  stand  the  loss  quite 
as  well." 

Victor  Weldon  sprang  to  his  feet  ex 
citedly.  The  "roping  in"  had  been  easier 
than  he  anticipated,  for  Sanford  Gordon, 
in  spite  of  his  propensity  for  squandering 
wealth  in  certain  directions,  belonged  to 
the  category  of  "wise  people."  No  one 
ever  wasted  postage  to  send  him  green- 
goods  catalogues,  and  Weldon  had  been 
extremely  doubtful  of  his  ability  to  get 
Gordon  as  a  backer,  although,  of  course, 
he  had  enjoyed  unlimited  opportunities  to 
win  his  confidence  while  acting  as  Mrs. 
Dainton's  manager. 

"It's  the  chance  of  a  lifetime,"  Weldon 
thought  to  himself  as  he  clasped  Gordon's 
hand  to  bind  the  bargain. 

"I'll  have  the  necessary  legal  papers 
drawn  up  by  my  lawyer,"  explained  Gor 
don.  "The  money  will  be  deposited  with 
the  Commercial  Trust  Company  to-mor 
row  morning.  You  will  handle  this  pro- 
139 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

duction  exactly  as  though  it  is  your  own 
— with  one  exception,  my  dear  Weldon." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Weldon,  appre 
hensively. 

"You  will  engage  for  the  leading  role 
a  young  lady  I  will  designate — " 

"Ah,  now  I  understand — "  began  Wel 
don,  smiling. 

" — who  will  have  no  inkling  whatever 
of  the  fact  that  I  am  the  backer  of  this 
show.  In  fact,  no  one  must  know  that  I 
am  furnishing  the  money.  Furthermore, 
at  any  time  I  see  fit — if,  for  instance,  the 
young  lady  cannot,  in  my  judgment,  play 
the  part  satisfactorily — I  reserve  the  right 
to  stop  the  whole  production  instantly, 
merely  paying  the  necessary  bills.  Do  you 
understand?" 

"But  you  wouldn't  close  the  show  if  it's 
a  hit,  would  you?"  demanded  Weldon. 

"I'm  not  likely  to  close  the  show  at  all," 

he  laughed.     "But  I  have  reasons  of  my 

own  for  reserving  that  right.     Otherwise, 

however,   you   are  the  manager,   owner, 

140 


The  Underground  Wires 

producer  and  director.  Do  as  you  please, 
my  dear  Weldon,  but  remember  the  terms 
of  our  compact/' 

"I  am  not  likely  to  forget  them,"  cried 
Weldon,  enthusiastically.  "But,"  he  added 
nervously,  ucan  the  young  lady  you  wish 
me  to  engage  really  act  the  part?" 

"I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care,"  re 
sponded  Gordon.  "The  fact  remains  that 
she  is  going  to  play  the  part,  and  if  she 
doesn't  know  how  to  act,  teach  her. 
That's  all." 

Weldon  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"I  had  hoped,  after  my  experience,  Mr. 
Gordon,  that  I  was  through  with  those 
bloomers  where  they  try  to  force  an  un 
known  on  the  public,"  he  sighed.  "But  I 
know  you  too  well  to  try  and  argue  that 
a  well-known  actress  of  reputation  would 
help  the  piece  and  perhaps  make  it  a  hit." 

Gordon  picked  up  his  silk  hat  and  bal 
anced  it  with  one  hand  while  he  took  his 
cane  and  gloves  from  the  desk. 

"It  is  immaterial  to  me,  Weldon, 
141 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

whether  the  piece  is  a  hit  or  not,"  he  said 
carelessly.  "Of  course,  I  sincerely  hope, 
for  your  sake,  that  it  proves  a  success. 
But  I  won't  shed  any  tears  if  it  isn't.  Like 
the  respected  founders  of  the  New  The 
ater,  I  am  not  producing  this  play  to  make 
money.  I  am  simply  endeavoring  to  give 
a  certain  young  lady  a  chance  to  play  a 
star  part  in  a  Broadway  theater.  If  she 
has  the  merit  to  succeed,  so  much  the  bet 
ter,  for  her  sake  and  for  yours.  But  per 
sonally  I  don't  give  a  damn — so  long  as 
I  pull  the  strings." 


142 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  THE  GREEN-ROOM 

TIME:     Three  months  later. 

"Half  hour!  Half  hour  I" 

The  resonant  cry  of  the  call-boy,  making 
the  rounds  of  the  dressing-rooms  of  the 
Globe  Theater,  penetrated  to  the  great 
empty  green-room,  immediately  adjoining 
the  star's  dressing-room.  Downstairs, 
from  the  musicians'  room,  came  the  sounds 
of  the  scraping  of  violin  bows  across  the 
strings,  the  occasional  toot  of  the  French 
horn  or  the  preliminary  notes  from  a  flute. 
Through  the  green-baize  doors  leading  to 
the  stage  came  the  sounds  of  shifting  sce 
nery  as  the  stage  hands  set  the  first  act  of 
"The  Village  Maid."  A  curtain  was  half 
drawn  across  the  entrance  to  the  adjoining 

143 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

star's  room,  behind  which  the  faithful  Liz 
zie  of  the  boarding-house,  now  trans 
formed  into  a  real  maid  for  an  actress, 
was  busily  engaged  preparing  the  toilette 
articles  and  the  costumes  of  Miss  Martha 
Farnum,  actress. 

Messenger  boy  735,  his  diminutive  fig 
ure  almost  hidden  beneath  a  gigantic  box 
of  flowers,  was  escorted  through  the  baize 
doors  by  old  Pete,  the  back-door  watch 
man. 

"Put  'em  down  there,  sonny/'  directed 
Pete,  pointing  toward  a  couch  in  the  green 
room.  "And  then  vamoose  quick.  I  get 
to  watch  the  door,  'cause  Miss  Farnum 
ain't  come  in  yet." 

Number  735  deposited  the  flowers  as 
directed,  carefully  cut  the  strings,  opened 
the  box,  and  was  in  the  act  of  breaking 
off  a  fine  American  Beauty  when  "Lizzie 
fortunately  caught  sight  of  him  from  the 
dressing-room. 

"Here,  you  thief.  Don't  you  dare," 
she  cried. 

144 


Iri  the  Gre en-Room 

"I  only  wanted  one,  lady,"  replied  735. 
"Gee,  if  I  was  an  actress  with  all  them 
blooms,  I'd  be  glad  to  slip  one  of  them  to 
a  kid  who's  going  to  sit  up  in  the  gallery 
and  applaud  your  old  show." 

"Are  you  going  to  see  the  play?"  asked 
Lizzie. 

"Betcher  life.  A  man  give  me  a  ticket 
and  four  bits  to  sit  in  the  gallery  and  clap 
everything." 

"What — everything?"  queried  Lizzie. 

"Well,  everything  our  leader  does. 
There's  forty  of  us  kids,  all  got  gallery 
tickets  free  and  fifty  cents  on  the  side. 
And  say,  when  Miss  Farnum  comes  on  the 
stage,  you  bet  she'll  hear  us  yell.  We  got 
orders  to  raise  de  roof  den." 

"You  awful  boy,"  cried  Lizzie,  genuine 
ly  shocked.  "Here,  take  the  rose,  but 
don't  tell  any  one  about  your  free  tickets. 
Miss  Farnum  won't  care  to  have  any  one 
know  the  audience  is  paid  to  clap  her." 

"Aw,  quit  kidding  me,"  responded  735. 
moving  toward  the  stage.  "Why,  we  sees 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

'most  all  the  New  York  shows  that  way 
for  nothing.  We  get  paid  to  clap,  even 
if  the  show's  rotten.  Don't  try  to  kid  me, 
baby." 

ult's  wonderful  what  you  learn  when 
you  go  on  the  stage,"  murmured  the  horri 
fied  Lizzie,  after  she  had  chased  735  into 
the  darker  regions  of  the  stage.  "I  won 
der  what's  keeping  Miss  Farnum?"  she 
added  thoughtfully,  as  she  returned  to  the 
dressing-room. 

Weldon,  clad  in  immaculate  evening 
clothes,  and  accompanied  by  an  unobtru 
sive  young  chap  wearing  a  dinner  coat,  a 
gray  vest,  a  gray  tie  and  a  small  derby, 
strolled  back  behind  the  scenes  to  make 
sure  everything  was  all  right  for  the  open 
ing.  This  was  really  Weldon's  most  am 
bitious  attempt.  For  years  he  had  served 
in  a  business  capacity  with  many  stars,  and 
occasionally  he  had  produced  things  on  his 
own  account,  but  never  before  had  his 
bank-roll  assumed  proportions  which 
would  justify  him  in  leasing  the  exclusive 
146 


In  the  Green-Room 

Globe  Theater.  If  the  new  production 
made  good  it  would  be  the  making  of  him 
as  a  manager  as  well.  Consequently  he 
was  in  delightful  spirits. 

His  companion  was  a  trifle  more  sub 
dued,  for  upon  his  somewhat  boyish  face 
there  was  a  cloud  of  anxiety.  He  was 
keen,  alert,  almost  deferential  in  his  atti 
tude  toward  the  manager,  but  a  certain  ex 
perienced  air  suggested  that  behind  his 
youthful  appearance  there  was  dynamic 
energy  and  a  fund  of  vitality  which  might 
burst  forth  at  any  moment.  He  was  Phil 
Hummer,  the  press  agent  of  the  Globe 
Theater,  a  former  newspaper  man  who, 
as  he  often  expressed  it,  "quit  writing  for 
the  papers  because  he  found  he  could  make 
more  money  as  a  press  agent."  For  weeks 
he  had  been  assiduously  informing  the 
public,  through  such  newspaper  mediums 
as  he  could  persuade  to  print  his  effusions, 
of  the  importance  of  Miss  Martha  Far- 
num's  approaching  stellar  debut — for  in 

*47 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

the  new  play,  be  it  known,  Martha  was 
being  "starred." 

A  Broadway  star !  How  often  have  you 
read  of  the  wonderful  luck  of  some  ob 
scure  chorus  girl,  called  upon  in  an  emer 
gency  to  play  the  leading  role,  and  next 
day  proclaimed  a  star !  Pretty  fiction  it  is. 
Once  in  a  while  it  happens  in  real  life,  but 
very  seldom.  It  is  the  alluring  tales  of  the 
sudden  elevation  of  choristers  which  at 
tract  and  fascinate  the  beginner.  The  oft- 
told  story  of  how  Edna  May  rose  from 
the  ranks  and  became  a  Casino  star  over 
night,  has  served  as  the  guiding  beacon  in 
the  life  story  of  many  a  chorus  girl  seek 
ing  for  fame;  alas!  too  often  in  vain. 

''Ready  to-night  for  the  stellar  debut  of 
Miss  Martha  Farnum,"  cried  Weldon,  en 
thusiastically.  uTo-night  is  the  night  that 
wins  or  loses  all." 

In  clear  defiance  of  the  printed  rules  of 
the  Fire  Department  young  Mr.  Hummer 
carefully  lighted  a  cigarette  and  observed 
148 


In  the  Green-Room 

carelessly:  ''Can't  see  how  any  one  loses 
unless  it's  Miss  Farnum." 

"Not  lose  ?"  repeated  Weldon.  "Why, 
man,  haven't  I  rented  the  theater  for  six 
weeks  on  a  guarantee,  to  say  nothing  of 
engaging  the  company  and  paying  for  the 
most  expensive  scenic  production  of  the 
season?  With  a  new  Paris  gown  for 
every  act?  If  Miss  "Farnum  doesn't  make 
good,  where  am  I?" 

"Exactly  where  you  were  three  months 
ago,"  said  Hummer. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort — "  began  Wel 
don,  when  Hummer,  with  a  warning  ges 
ture,  held  his  finger  to  his  lips  and  nodded 
toward  the  dressing-room  where  Lizzie 
was  preparing  for  the  coming  of  her 
mistress. 

"Cut  it,  Weldon,"  he  whispered  mean 
ingly.  "I  know  it's  not  your  money,  so 
what's  the  use?" 

"Not  my  money  ?  Don't  I  pay  you  your 
salary?" 

"Certainly;  but  I  know,  and  every  one 
149 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

else  in  the  company  guesses,  that  you  are 
only  the  figurehead." 

"The  idea!"  sputtered  Weldon,  pom 
pously.  "Don't  the  bills  read:  'Victor  Wel 
don  presents  Miss  Farnum'? — ^presents, 
mind  you." 

Hummer  stepped  closer  a  bit,  puffed  at 
his  cigarette,  and  motioned  toward  the 
dressing-room. 

"She's  the  meal  ticket,"  he  added. 

"You  mean  Miss  Farnum?" 

"Exactly.  She  found  the  angel,  not  you. 
If  he  withdrew  his  support  to-night,  you 
couldn't  keep  this  thing  going  thirty 
minutes." 

Weldon  dropped  into  a  chair  and  asked 
weakly : 

"How  did  you  find  out?" 

"The  day  you  engaged  me  to  incite  pub 
lic  interest  in  your  star,  I  found  out  who 
the  angel  was.  I  hadn't  been  hanging 
around  the  Casino  for  nothing.  Half  a 
dozen  of  the  newspaper  boys  know  all 
about  his  infatuation  for  her." 
150 


In  the  Green-Room 

Victor  Weldon  smiled  weakly.  "Every 
one  said  you  were  good  at  guessing 
things,"  he  remarked.  "But  listen,  Phil. 
Not  a  word  of  this  to  any  one.  Even  Miss 
Farnum  doesn't  know  how  things  really 
stand." 

Hummer  whistled. 

"She  don't  know  Gordon  is  putting  up 
the  money?" 

Weldon  shook  his  head. 

"And  she  thinks  it  is  honest  recognition 
of  real  merit?" 

Weldon  said  nothing. 

"My  word,  what  a  good  story,  and  I 
can't  print  it,"  ejaculated  Hummer,  turn 
ing  toward  the  door  that  led  behind  the 
boxes  to  the  front  of  the  house.  Just  as 
he  was  about  to  open  it,  Gordon  pushed  it 
ajar  with  one  quick  stroke  of  his  powerful 
arm,  and  strode  into  the  green-room. 

"Where's  Miss  Farnum?"  he  asked 
brusquely.  "Oh,  I  thought  you  were  Wel 
don,"  he  added,  turning  abruptly  from 
Hummer. 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"This  is  Mr.  Hummer,  our  press  repre 
sentative,"  explained  Weldon,  coming  for 
ward  eagerly. 

"Ah,  the  press  agent?  Very  good,"  re 
sponded  Gordon,  carelessly  turning  his 
back  on  Hummer. 

"Let  us  say,  rather,  inciter  of  public  in 
terest,"  explained  Hummer.  "Paid  to  get 
fiction  into  the  papers,  and  to  suppress 
facts." 

Gordon  turned  toward  him  curiously. 
"Indeed!  And  what  do  you  suppress?" 
he  asked. 

"Well,"  drawled  Hummer,  "who  is  fur 
nishing  the  money  for  Miss  Farnum's  star 
ring  venture,  for  one  thing,  especially  as 
she  doesn't  know  herself."  And  with  a 
light  laugh  Hummer  went  "in  front"  by 
the  passage  leading  behind  the  boxes. 

"See  here,  Weldon,"  said  Gordon,  de 
cisively,  "it  is  now  almost  eight  o'clock. 
When  do  you  ring  up  the  curtain?" 

"At  twenty  minutes  past,"  replied 
Weldon. 

152 


In  the  Green-Room 

"Then  understand  me  thoroughly.  You 
will  not  ring  up  that  curtain  until  I  say  so. 
Understand  me — until  I  say  so." 

Gordon's  tone  clearly  indicated  some 
thing  unusual.  "What  do  you  mean?" 
asked  Weldon. 

"Unless  things  go  my  way  first,  that  cur 
tain  will  never  go  up  on  this  production," 
said  Gordon,  tensely.  "Oh,  don't  worry," 
as  he  saw  the  other's  face  wrinkle.  "I'll 
see  that  you  personally  don't  lose  any 
thing  by  it.  But  if  I  am  to  pay  the  piper 
for  this  crazy  starring  scheme,  I  want 
some  return  for  my  money.  Have  the  or 
chestra  ring  in  as  usual  and  play  the  over 
ture.  Have  all  the  people  ready  in  their 
costumes,  and  then,  just  before  Martha 
Farnum  steps  upon  that  stage,  I  want  to 
see  her  here.  Do  you  understand?" 

"I  didn't  before,"  answered  Weldon, 
meaningly,  "but  I  am  just  beginning  to 


now." 


Alone,  Gordon  clenched  his  hands  ner 
vously. 

153 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"I've  given  her  everything  she  has 
wanted  for  the  past  three  months,"  he 
murmured,  "even  this  latest  plaything — a 
theater  and  a  company  of  her  own — but 
I  think  we'll  have  a  settlement  to-night,  my 
dear  Martha;  a  little  clearer  understand 
ing  before  the  curtain  rises  on  my  latest 
folly." 


154 


CHAPTER  XII 

AN  OVERTURE  AND  A  PRELUDE 

UTHIS/'  said  Martha,  "is  as  far  as  you 
can  venture.  There  is  my  dressing-room, 
sacred  only  to  the  star — that's  Poor  Little 
Me." 

And  with  a  profound  courtesy,  she 
bowed  low  before  Clayton.  Then  rising 
with  the  air  of  a  tragedy  queen,  she 
pointed  toward  the  door. 

"Begone,  varlet!"  she  cried,  with  mock 
intensity.  "Your  queen  dismisses  you." 

Clayton  laughed.  "So  little  Martha 
Farnum  has  become  a  great  New  York 
star  at  last,"  he  said  seriously.  "I  couldn't 
realize  that  you  were  really  going  up  so 
rapidly.  This  offer  from  Weldon  was 
really  enough  to  take  your  breath  away, 

155 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

and  when  he  decided  during  rehearsals  to 
feature  you  so  prominently,  I  concluded 
that  perhaps  you  had  more  talent  than 
either  of  us  ever  suspected.  But  when  he 
actually  starred  you — say,  did  you  see 
your  name  in  electric  letters  as  we  came 
by  the  front  of  the  theater?" 

"Yes,"  cried  Martha.  "It  almost  took 
my  breath  away." 

Clayton  shook  his  head  wonderingly. 

"I  remember  your  telling  me  Gordon  of 
fered  to  get  you  this  engagement,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  suppose — " 

Martha  laughed  at  his  half-uttered 
thought. 

"Mr.  Gordon  has  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,"  she  declared.  "I  am  sure  of  that, 
because  he  never  came  to  one  of  the  re 
hearsals.  Once  I  saw  some  one  out  front 
in  the  darkened  theater  who  seemed  like 
Mr.  Gordon,  but  when  I  asked  him  if  he 
had  attended  the  rehearsal  he  declared  I 
was  mistaken." 

"But  you've  seen  him?" 


An  Overture  and  a  Prelude 

"Yes,  a  number  of  times,  and  since  you 
withdrew  your  restrictions,  I  have  had  din 
ner  with  him  frequently,  but  you  know  all 
about  that." 

"I  couldn't  expect  you  to  be  cooped  up 
all  the  time/'  Clayton  admitted,  "especially 
when  your  salary  leaped  upward  so  amaz 
ingly.  And  I  don't  blame  you  for  taking 
a  more  comfortable  apartment  in  the  Web 
ster.  Aunt  Jane's  boarding-house  was  all 
right  for  the  chorus  girl,  but  a  trifle  too 
passe  for  the  future  star." 

Martha  shook  her  head  sadly.  "I  think 
I  was  happier  in  those  days  than  now," 
she  mused.  "The  more  one  attempts,  the 
greater  the  chance  for  failure.  To-night  I 
realize  what  is  the  ambition  of  most  play 
ers,  yet,  somehow,  I  am  filled  with  dread. 
It  doesn't  seem  right  that  I,  plain  Martha 
Farnum,  should  be  rushed  upward  like  a 
skyrocket.  Though  the  rocket  shoots  up 
ward  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  the  stick  must 
fall." 

"Good  heavens,  you  mustn't  anticipate 
157 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

bad  luck,"  protested  Clayton,  cheerily. 
"I'm  going  out  front  and  witness  your 
triumph." 

"If  it  only  is  a  triumph!"  sighed 
Martha. 

"It  will  be,"  insisted  Clayton.  "How 
ever,  don't  be  nervous.  Remember  if  you 
ever  need  me,  I  will  be  within  call.  Au 
revoir — and  good  luck  to  you,"  he  added 
cordially,  and  in  another  moment  he  had 
gone,  while  Martha  stood  staring  blankly 
before  her,  and  wondering  what  the  night 
would  bring  forth. 

"Oh,  Miss  Farnum,"  cried  Lizzie,  sud 
denly  emerging  from  the  dressing-room, 
"you'd  better  hurry  and  dress  for  the  first 
act.  It  is  almost  time  for  the  overture." 

"All  right,  Lizzie,"  answered  Martha, 
going  to  the  room  and  beginning  to  dis 
robe.  A  moment  later,  Miss  Pinkie  Lex 
ington,  made  up  for  the  part  of  a  fashion 
able  society  woman,  entered  the  green 
room  cautiously,  and  crossed  to  the  door 
behind  the  boxes. 

158 


An  Overture  and  a  Prelude 

"Where  can  he  be?"  she  murmured  to 
herself.  Then,  hearing  the  call-boy  crying 
"Overture,  overture,"  in  the  distance,  she 
started  quickly  toward  the  stage,  only  to 
pause  abruptly  when  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  Miss  Flossie  Forsythe, 
neatly  attired  in  a  maid's  costume,  and 
wearing  a  white  apron  and  cap. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  have  come  here,  if  I'd 
known  you  was  here,"  declared  Flossie, 
angrily. 

Pinkie  extended  a  conciliating  hand  and 
said  grandly:  "Let's  be  friends,  Flossie. 
A  girl  shouldn't  have  enemies  in  the 
company." 

"It  is  hard  enough  to  be  compelled  to  ac 
cept  an  engagement  in  the  same  company 
with  you,"  replied  Flossie,  sarcastically, 
"but  thank  goodness,  a  girl  can  choose  her 
own  friends." 

"It's  the  first  part  you  ever  had  with 
real  lines,  isn't  it?" 

"No,"   cried  Flossie,   indignantly.     "I 

159 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

had  lines  when  I  was  with  the  Tollies'  on 
the  New  York  roof." 

"Oh,  but  I  mean  in  a  real  play,"  replied 
Pinkie,  superciliously.  "Anyhow,  you 
don't  want  to  get  too  gay  with  me.  Re 
member,  I  got  you  this  engagement.  I 
asked  Martha  to  give  you  a  real  part,  be 
cause  I  knew  you  needed  the  money,  now 
you've  lost  your  lawsuit,  and  Mr.  Zin- 
sheimer,  too." 

"Zinsheimer!"  repeated  a  stentorian 
voice  behind  them,  as  the  proud  possessor 
of  that  historic  name  appeared,  gorgeous 
in  the  resplendency  of  an  expansive  shirt 
bosom  and  a  white  carnation  in  his  button 
hole.  "Now,  Pinkie,  you  know  I  told  you 
to  call  me  'Feathers.'  " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Zinsheimer,"  half  sobbed 
Flossie,  "you  are  just  in  time.  Even 
though  you  care  nothing  more  for  me,  you 
are  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  let  me  be 
insulted.  This  creature  has — " 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  Feathers,"  inter 
rupted  Pinkie.  "Flossie's  still  sore  on  me. 
160 


An  Overture  and  a  Prelude 

I  say,  she'd  better  forget  it.  Girls  ought 
to  be  friends  when  they're  in  the  same 
company." 

Zinsheimer  raised  his  hands  protest- 
ingly.  uAw,  girls,  cut  it  out,  cut  it  out. 
People  these  days  have  to  be  important  to 
have  enemies.  Forget  it.  There's  a  great 
audience  out  in  front  and  all  of  them  wait 
ing  to  see  the  little  star.  Ach  Gott!"  he 
added,  as  the  green-baize  doors  were  sud 
denly  thrown  open  from  the  stage,  and  an 
excitable  whirlwind  blew  in.  "Ach  Gotf, 
what  is  this?" 

"This"  turned  out  to  be  an  imposing  fig 
ure  attired  in  the  white  huzzar  uniform 
of  a  German  prince.  His  bronze  wig  with 
the  pompadour  effect,  his  upturned  mous 
tache,  his  glittering  decorations  and  smart 
uniform,  all  indicated  that  he  was  a  Great 
Personage.  But,  alas!  from  the  knees 
downward  the  illusion  stopped.  "This" 
didn't  wear  any  boots.  In  fact,  he  was  in 
his  stocking  feet,  and  he  trod  the  boards 
gingerly  but  none  the  less  dramatically. 
161 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"This,"  in  other  words,  was  Arnold  Law 
rence,  leading  man,  and  he  was  evidently 
somewhat  distrait. 

"Miss  Farnum,"  he  cried.  "Where  is 
Miss  Farnum?" 

"She's  there  in  her  dressing-room,"  ex 
plained  Zinsheimer.  "But  she  isn't  com 
ing  out  until — well,  until  she's  more  so 
than  she  is  now.  What's  the  matter?" 

"That  stupid  bootmaker  has  failed  to 
send  my  boots,"  shouted  Lawrence.  "How 
can  I  go  on  without  my  boots  ?  I  have  the 
part  of  a  royal  prince  of  the  German  Em 
pire.  Do  you  expect  me  to  appear  like 
this — without  boots?" 

"Go  ask  the  property  man,"  directed 
Zinsheimer.  "He's  got  some." 

"Bah !  A  German  prince  wear  property 
boots?  Impossible!" 

Martha,  all  ready  for  the  first  act,  ap 
peared  in  the  door  of  her  dressing-room. 

"Miss  Farnum,"  cried  Lawrence,  dra 
matically,  "my  boots  have  not  arrived.  I 
refuse  to  go  on  unless  correctly  dressed." 
162 


I 


An  Overture  and  a  Prelude 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  asked  Martha, 
helplessly. 

"Dismiss  the  audience.  I  will  not  ap 
pear  without  the  proper  costume." 

"Oh,  dear— please— " 

"I  will  not  act." 

"But  we  can  get  some  other  boots — " 

"I  tell  you,  I  will  not  act." 

"For  my  sake — for  the  company's 
sake—" 

"I  must  think  first  of  my  art,"  almost 
shouted  Lawrence.  "The  critics  are  in 
front.  If  they  saw  me  in  boots  not  in  keep 
ing  with  the  costume,  they  would  say  I 
dressed  the  part  wrongly.  I  would  be 
ruined." 

Zinsheimer  dragged  the  frantic  leading 
man  to  one  side.  "Come  here,"  he  cried. 
"She's  got  enough  to  worry  her  to-night 
without  you.  Now,  do  you  want  the  Ger 
man  prince  to  appear  with  a  black  eye?" 

"But  heavens,  man,  what  am  I  to  do?" 
protested  Lawrence.  "Look  at  me.  I 
want  my  boots." 

163 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Aw,  go  act  barefooted,"  replied  Zin-- 
sheimer,  disgustedly. 

"What?     I  barefoot?" 

"Well,  why  not?  You  haven't  got  any 
thing  on  Ruth  and  Isadora.  If  they  can 
act  barefooted,  why  not  you?" 

"Preposterous !"  exploded  Lawrence, 
seeing  he  was  being  made  game  of.  "I 
tell  you,  I  decline  to  act.  It  is  the  audience 
who  suffers — not  I." 

Fortunately  Weldon  entered  at  this 
psychological  moment  with  the  package 
which  had  been  delayed.  The  boots  had 
been  sent  to  the  box-office  instead  of  the 
stage  entrance.  Lawrence,  calmed  at  once 
as  if  by  magic,  pounced  upon  it  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"My  boots — at  last,"  he  cried.  "It  is 
all  right,  Miss  Farnum.  They  have  ar 
rived.  I  will  act  to-night." 

In  the   general   laughter  that  ensued, 

came  the  sharp  cry  of  the  assistant  stage 

manager  calling  "Places — first  act."     As 

Martha   stepped  toward  the  stage,   half 

164 


An  Overture  and  a  Prelude 

trembling  with  mingled  nervousness  and 
glad  anticipation  at  the  actual  realization 
of  her  much  cherished  ambition,  Weldon 
touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"One  moment,  if  you  please,  Miss  Far- 
num,"  he  said  softly.  "Believe  me,  I  re 
gret  to  trouble  you,  but  something  very 
important  has  arisen.  Mr.  Gordon  wants 
to  speak  to  you  here." 

Martha  turned  toward  him  in  surprise. 
"Mr.  Gordon?"  she  repeated.  "How  ab 
surd  !  I  can't  see  any  one  now." 

"He's  very  insistent,  Miss  Farnum." 

"Then  tell  him,  after  the  play,"  replied 
Martha.  "He  must  know  the  curtain  is 
just  about  to  rise  on  the  first  act." 

"He  knows  that,"  responded  Weldon, 
sincerely  sorry  at  the  awkward  predica 
ment  in  which  he  saw  things  were  becom 
ing  involved.  "I  know  that,  but  please, 
for  my  sake,  see  him,  if  only  for  a  few 
moments." 

"That's  a  strange  request,"  pondered 
Martha.  "But  if  you  really  want  it,  Mr. 


A  Star,  for  a  Night 

Weldon,  of  course  I  will  comply.  You 
have  done  so  much  for  me  that  indeed  I 
ought  to." 

"I  will  send  him  here  at  once,"  said 
Weldon,  quickly,  and  disappeared  through 
the  boxes. 

"Gordon?"  said  Martha,  wonderingly 
to  herself.  Then  to  her  maid:  "Lizzie, 
go  and  watch  for  my  entrance." 


166 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BEFORE  THE  CURTAIN  ROSE 

GORDON  stopped  short  before  Martha, 
involuntarily  impressed  at  the  pleasing  pic 
ture  she  made,  clad  in  her  simple  but  effec 
tive  first-act  dress,  as  she  half  kneeled  on 
the  ottoman  in  the  center  of  the  green 
room,  repeating  to  herself  the  lines  from 
her  part,  which  she  held  in  her  hand  and 
at  which  she  occasionally  glanced  to  re 
fresh  her  memory. 

"You  are  indeed  beautiful  to-night,"  he 
half  whispered,  approaching  her  closer. 
Martha  turned  toward  him  coldly. 

"Did  you  force  yourself  upon  me  this 
way  just  to  utter  such  a  commonplace  re 
mark  as  that?'*  she  asked. 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Force  myself?"  repeated  Gordon,  half 
indignantly. 

"Yes.  You  know  that  I  am  nervous  and 
excited  over  this  performance  to-night.  In 
a  few  moments  I  will  have  to  face  an  un 
sympathetic  audience,  ready  to  laugh  if  I 
score  a  failure,  reluctant  to  concede  suc 
cess.  At  such  a  time,  how  can  you  imagine 
I  want  to  talk  to  any  one  ?  All  my  strength 
and  energy  are  needed  for  this  conflict  to 
night,  and  it  was  unkind  of  you  to  insist 
upon  coming  here  at  this  moment." 

Gordon  drew  a  chair  near  the  ottoman 
and  motioned  for  her  to  be  seated. 
Martha  reluctantly  sat  beside  him,  her 
thoughts  far  away,  her  ears  listening  in 
tently  for  the  curtain  music  to  indicate  the 
beginning  of  the  first  act. 

"If  you  had  refused  to  see  me  just 
now,"  said  Gordon,  quietly  but  incisively, 
"the  curtain  would  never  have  risen  to 
night.  In  fact,  I  am  not  sure  now  that  it 
will  rise." 

Martha  looked  at  him  in  simple  amaze- 
168 


MARTHA  KAKNUM    (Ei.siE  JAN  is) 


Before  the  Curtain  Rose 

ment.      "Nonsense,"   she   replied.      "The 
curtain  will  rise  in  a  few  minutes." 

"It  will  when  you  say  the  word,  pro 
vided  it  suits  me  also." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Martha's  voice 
expressed  curiosity  only. 

"The  time  is  short,  so  I  will  speak 
plainly,"  said  Gordon,  tensely.  "I  have 
purposely  waited  until  the  last  moment  so 
you  could  see  both  sides  of  the  picture. 
On  the  one  hand,  here  are  you,  Martha 
Farnum,  about  to  make  your  actual  ap 
pearance  as  a  star  at  a  Broadway  theater. 
In  six  months  or  less  you  have  been  trans 
formed  from  a  simple  country  girl  to  a 
position  often  denied  those  who  struggle 
for  many  years.  Who  do  you  think  has 
accomplished  all  this  for  you?  Who  is 
making  you  a  star  to-night?" 

"Why — why,  Mr.  Weldon,  of  course," 
replied  Martha,  slightly  bewildered. 
"Who  else?" 

Gordon  laughed  with  just  the  suggestion 
of  a  sneer. 

169 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"I  am,"  he  said  coldly. 

"You?  Impossible!"  Martha  rose  in 
amazement. 

"For  three  months  I  have  made  it  pos 
sible  for  you  to  have  everything  a  woman 
can  want,"  continued  Gordon,  calmly,  com 
ing  to  her.  "To-night  the  climax  is 
reached  when  you  make  your  appearance 
as  a  star — if  you  appear.  While  you  have 
thought  your  natural  talents  were  receiv 
ing  just  recognition,  I  have  been  paying 
the  bills." 

"And  if  what  you  say  is  true — all  true — 
what  then?"  Martha  gazed  at  him  blank 
ly,  as  though  dazed. 

"This.  What  I  have  done,  I  have  done 
because  of  my  admiration  for  you.  Up  to 
this  moment  I  have  asked  nothing  in  re 
turn,  but  now  I  do." 

"Return?    You  mean—?" 

"You're  not  such  a  fool  as  you'd  have 
me  think.  What  of  the  handsome  apart 
ment  you  are  living  in,  furnished  by  Mr. 
Weldon  and  supposed  to  be  paid  for  out 
170 


Before  the  Curtain  Rose 

of  the  salary  you  are  to  receive?  Do  you 
think  Mr.  Weldon  really  paid  the  rent? 
No,  my  dear.  I  did." 

"No,  no,  no — I  don't  believe  it,"  cried 
Martha,  shrinking  from  him.  "It's  in 
credible." 

"I  don't  care  a  rap  for  the  money  I 
have  spent,"  cried  Gordon,  following  her. 
"I'd  give  it  ten  times  over  if  you  only 
loved  me." 

"Loved  you?"  repeated  Martha,  scorn 
fully.  "How  can  you — " 

"Don't  say  no  too  hastily,  Martha.  I 
think  I  care  more  for  you  than  I  ever  did 
for  any  one  else.  I'll  make  you  happy. 
There's  nothing  that  my  money  won't  do 
or  can't  do.  We  can  go  around  the  world 
together — to  Paris,  Vienna,  India,  Japan, 
anywhere  you  like."  He  came  nearer. 
"Martha,  in  all  the  time  I  have  known  and 
loved  you,  I  have  never  had  one  kiss.  Shall 
I  have  the  first  to-night?" 

The  girl  turned  and  faced  him  squarely 
with  flashing  eyes. 

171 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Neither  to-night  nor  any  other  night," 
she  cried  in  ringing  tones. 

"You  mean  it?"  Gordon's  face  was 
pale  and  drawn. 

"Yes." 

"Is  that  your  final  answer?"  he  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"It  is,"  she  replied  defiantly. 

"Then  listen  to  me,"  declared  Gordon, 
his  face  flushed  with  sudden  anger. 
"Either  you  pledge  your  word  to  accept 
me  on  my  own  terms  here  and  now,  or 
you  will  never  make  your  entrance  on  that 
stage.  Ah,"  he  added,  as  Martha  reeled 
at  the  sudden  realization  of  how  com 
pletely  he  controlled  the  situation,  "that 
hits  your  vanity,  does  it?  A  nice  little 
story  for  the  newspapers  to-morrow. 
Theater  closed,  audience  dismissed,  new 
star  such  a  pitiful  failure  that  she  is  too 
frightened  to  appear." 

"But  that  isn't  true — that  isn't  true," 
cried  Martha. 

172 


Before  the  Curtain  Rose 

"Isn't  it?  Try  and  convince  the  public 
otherwise." 

"I  will,  and  that  curtain  shall  go  up 
to-night."  Martha  faced  him  bravely 
enough,  though  her  courage  almost  failed 
her. 

"Try  it  and  see  whose  orders  will  be 
obeyed.  Listen — the  orchestra  has  fin 
ished  the  overture.  Think  carefully,  for 
your  final  answer  now  decides  your  fate. 
You  are  at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  A 
future  with  me,  everything  you  desire,  or 
back  to  your  days  of  poverty." 

Weldon  appeared  as  Martha  seemed  to 
hesitate. 

"Shall  I  ring  up  the  curtain?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

"Wait,"  replied  Gordon.  He  turned  to 
Martha.  "Your  answer?" 

Martha  did  not  look  at  him.  "No,"  she 
replied  simply. 

Gordon  drew  in  his  breath  quickly,  and 
the  concentrated  anger  seemed  almost 
ready  to  burst  its  bonds.  He  stood  look- 
173 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

ing  at  her  intently  for  a  moment,  then  ap 
parently  realizing  that  he  was  unable  to 
alter  her  decision,  he  threw  up  his  hands 
with  a  despairing  gesture  and  started  to 
ward  the  door. 

"There  will  be  no  performance,  Wei- 
don,"  he  said  roughly.  "Dismiss  the  audi 
ence,  pay  everybody  their  salaries,  and 
wind  up  the  whole  cursed  business.  I  have 
sunk  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  a  hobby 
and  a  pretty  face,  but  now,  thank  God, 
I'm  through.  I'm  cured.  That's  all — 
good-night." 

"One  moment  before  you  go,"  cried 
Martha,  stung  to  the  quick.  "You  may 
have  dazzled  other  girls  before  with  your 
golden  shower.  You  may  have  rung  up 
curtains  on  success,  and  claimed  your  reck 
oning,  but  this  time,  even  though  you  have 
brought  me  failure  and  humiliation,  you 
may  mark  one  failure  for  yourself.  Good 
night."  And  with  a  proud  gesture  of  in 
dependence,  she  turned  her  back  upon  him, 
and  went  into  her  dressing-room,  while 


Before  the  Curtain  Rose 

Gordon,  with  a  muttered  exclamation,  left 
the  green-room  for  the  front  of  the 
theater. 

As  quickly  as  possible  the  despairing 
Weldon  gave  the  necessary  orders.  The 
moment  the  players  understood  there 
would  be  no  performance,  pandemonium 
broke  loose.  In  an  instant  the  green-room 
was  filled  with  a  crowd  of  excited  players 
in  oddly  contrasting  costumes,  all  chatter 
ing  away  for  dear  life. 

"No  performance?"  cried  Flossie  For- 
sythe.  "What  does  it  all  mean?" 

"Ain't  I  ever  going  to  play  a  real  part?" 
wailed  Pinkie. 

"My  first  time  on  Broadway,  too,"  said 
Arthur  Mortimer,  sadly. 

"I  never  heard  of  such  an  outrageous 
proceeding,"  shouted  Arnold  Lawrence, 
pompously.  "No  performance,  indeed? 
I  was  engaged  for  the  season,  and  I  shall 
sue  for  a  season's  salary." 

"You  were  engaged  for  the  run  of  the 
play,"  retorted  Weldon,  indignantly.  "If 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

the  play  doesn't  have  a  run  you  are  en 
titled  to  nothing,  but  I  give  you  and  every 
one  else  two  weeks'  salary." 

"It  is  an  insult  to  an  artist,"  insisted 
Lawrence,  turning  to  a  group  of  the  dis 
satisfied  and  disappointed  players. 

Suddenly  the  door  through  the  boxes 
was  thrown  open  and  Clayton  entered. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  he  demanded. 
"The  theater  is  crowded  with  a  lot  of 
people  who  want  to  know  the  reason  for 
the  sudden  announcement.  Why  will  there 
be  no  performance?"  he  added,  drawing 
Weldon  aside. 

"I  had  to  do  it,  Mr.  Clayton,"  explained 
Weldon,  privately.  "You  see  it  is  not  my 
production — I  had  to  obey  the  orders  of 
my  financial  backer." 

"You  mean—" 

"Gordon.    Yes." 

"I  see.  Affairs  came  to  a  climax  to 
night,"  said  Clayton.  "I  suspected  some 
thing  underhanded,  but  I  didn't  believe 
even  Gordon  capable  of  such  a  trick."  He 


Before  the  Curtain  Rose 

paused  an  instant.  "Look  here,  Weldon, 
is  this  theater  leased  in  your  name?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Weldon,  promptly. 

"Then  you  could  give  the  performance 
if  you  wanted  to?" 

"But  Mr.  Gordon  will  not  pay  the  bills 
unless  I  carry  out  his  orders,"  protested 
Weldon. 

Clayton  slapped  him  eagerly  on  the 
back.  "Then  carry  out  my  orders,"  he 
cried  enthusiastically,  "and  I  will  pay  the 
bills." 

"You?"  Weldon's  eyes  lit  up  with  re 
newed  interest.  He  saw  before  him  an 
other  prospective  backer  to  take  the  place 
of  the  one  who  had  just  deserted  him. 
"You?  Of  course  it  could  be  done,  Clay 
ton,  the  lease  is  in  my  name." 

"Then  that's  settled,"  declared  Clayton, 
quickly.  "You  know  me  and  you  know  my 
checks  are  good.  Quick — send  some  one 
out  to  make  an  announcement  to  the  audi 
ence  that  there  will  be  a  performance." 

As  the  stage  manager  hurriedly  started 
177 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

toward  the  curtain,  Lawrence,  who  had 
overheard  this  dialogue,  strutted  toward 
Clayton. 

"All  very  good,"  he  cried  pompously. 
"But  what  about  my  salary?" 

"How  much  do  you  get?"  inquired 
Clayton. 

Lawrence  came  close  to  him.  "Four 
hundred  a  week,"  he  whispered. 

Clayton  turned  to  Weldon.  "How 
much  does  this  man  get,  Weldon?"  he 
inquired. 

"Seventy  a  week,"  Weldon  answered 
quickly. 

Lawrence  fairly  fumed  with  rage,  while 
the  members  of  the  company  tittered. 

"The  terms  of  my  contract  are  sacred 
and  confidential,"  he  protested.  "I  ac 
cepted  the  reduced  salary  only  because  it 
is  late  in  the  season.  You  had  no  right 
to  expose  the  secrets  of  our  contract." 

Clayton  laughed.  "I'll  give  you  a  hun 
dred  if  you  go  on  and  give  a  good  per 
formance,"  he  volunteered.  "Weldon, 


Before  the  Curtain  Rose 

make  out  the  salary  list  of  this  company, 
and  Til  give  you  a  check  covering  two 
weeks'  salaries  for  each  member  of  the  or 
ganization.  Figure  up  how  much  the  the 
ater  costs,  and  whatever  Gordon  hasn't 
paid,  I  will.  Now,  everybody  get  ready 
for  the  first  act,  and  ring  up  the  curtain." 

Martha,  alone  in  her  dressing-room, 
had  heard  Clayton  giving  his  peremptory 
commands.  Half  dazed  yet  at  the  sudden 
apparent  collapse  of  the  play,  she  scarcely 
realized  that  defeat  was  even  now  being 
turned  into  victory.  But  the  command  to 
get  ready  for  the  act  awoke  her  from  her 
lethargy. 

"Mr.  Clayton,"  she  cried,  coming  to 
him,  "how  can  you  do  all  this?" 

"I'm  not  as  rich  as  Gordon,"  he  replied, 
looking  at  her  a  bit  reproachfully.  "Not 
by  a  long  shot,  but  I  guess  you  can  star  for 
a  night  anyway,  Martha,  even  with  a  one- 
horse  angel." 

"You  are  not  doing  all  this  for  me? 
Why,  it  would  be  better  to  let  the  whole 
179 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

thing  be  a  total  failure  than  to  take  such 
a  risk." 

"I  am  doing  it  because  it  pleases  me," 
explained  Clayton.  "And  because  I  want 
you  to  have  every  chance  for  success  that 
they  tried  to  rob  you  of." 

"Just  wish  me  luck?"  asked  Martha, 
softly,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"I  wish  you  everything  you  wish  your 
self,"  he  replied. 

"The  curtain  is  up,  Miss  Farnum,"  cried 
Lizzie,  entering  for  a  moment  from  the 
stage.  "It  is  nearly  time  for  your  en 
trance." 

"Wish  me  success,"  pleaded  Martha, 
again. 

"Is  that  all  you  wish  for?"  asked  Clay 
ton,  going  with  her  toward  the  stage.  "If 
that  is  all  you  wish,  I  hope  from  the  bot 
tom  of  my  heart  you  will  win  it  to-night." 

Martha  withdrew  her  hand,  turned,  and 
half  smiled,  just  before  stepping  upon  the 
stage. 

180 


Before  the  Curtain  Rose 

"I  wonder  if  it  is?"  she  said  wistfully, 
and  in  another  moment  Clayton  heard  a 
roll  of  applause  go  over  the  house  as  she 
stepped  before  the  footlights. 


181 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  MORNING  AFTER 

WHITE  and  gold  were  the  decorations 
of  Martha's  apartment  in  the  Webster — 
all  white  and  gold  except  the  dainty  bed 
room,  which  was  in  pink.  Visitors,  how 
ever,  saw  only  the  white  and  gold  of  the 
parlor  and  the  drawing-room,  with  per 
haps  an  occasional  glimpse  into  the  dark- 
oak  dining-room. 

The  first  streaks  of  early  dawn,  pene 
trating  the  crevices  behind  the  heavy, 
drawn  curtains,  cast  a  few  shadows,  and 
in  the  dim  light  one  might  have  seen  a 
dozen  baskets  of  flowers,  mostly  orchids 
and  roses,  ranged  about  the  drawing-room. 

It  must  have  been  almost  nine  o'clock 
when  Lizzie,  entering  from  the  maid's 

183 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

room,  drew  the  curtains  and  flooded  the 
white  and  gold  parlor  with  rich,  warm  sun 
light.  The  curtains  of  the  bedroom  were 
still  drawn,  but  evidently  Martha  was 
wide  awake,  for  a  voice  called  from  the 
inner  room. 

"Is  that  you,  Lizzie?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Martha, "  replied  the  maid. 
"It's  'most  nine  o'clock.  Shall  I  get  you 
the  papers?" 

Martha,  hastily  throwing  on  a  pink 
dressing-gown,  entered  the  parlor.  Her 
eyes  were  still  heavy,  and  her  face  was 
drawn  and  troubled. 

"I've  had  a  wretched  night,"  she  said, 
dropping  into  a  great  arm-chair.  "I 
couldn't  sleep.  After  that  terrible 
ordeal—" 

"Terrible?"  repeated  Lizzie,  aghast. 
"Lord,  Miss,  I  heard  all  the  stage  hands 
say  the  show  was  great.  The  actors  are 
the  only  ones  I  heard  roast  it  at  all." 

"I'm  afraid  I  made  a  terrible  mistake," 
sighed  Martha.  "I  tried  to  do  things  too 
184 


The  Morning  After 

quickly.  I  was  ambitious,  but  I  forgot 
that  the  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift. 
I  should  have  spent  years  and  years  in 
preparation  before  attempting  last  night. 
Of  course  I  was  misled  by  the  manage 
ment,  who  made  me  believe  I  was  being 
promoted  because  of  my  ability." 

"And  wasn't  that  the  truth?"  de 
manded  Lizzie. 

Martha  smiled  wanly.  "I  can't  explain 
now,"  she  said.  "I  know  I  never  realized 
until  after  last  night  what  an  absolute 
failure  I  had  been." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  Miss  Martha," 
protested  Lizzie.  "Look  at  the  applause 
you  got,  and  all  these  flowers." 

"Applause  and  flowers — that's  all  fail 
ures  ever  get,"  and  Martha  shook  her 
head  wearily.  "The  end  of  my  dreams 
has  come.  I  shall  close  the  theater  to 
night." 

"Lord,  Miss  Martha,"  cried  Lizzie, 
"don't  be  hasty.  Ah,"  as  a  knock  sounded 
185 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

on  the  door,  uthere  are  the  papers.  Shall 
I  open  them  up  for  you  ?" 

"I  can  find  the  notices  easily  enough," 
said  Martha,  taking  the  papers.  "I  am 
sure  the  horrid  headlines  will  stare  me  in 
the  face.  Mr.  Clayton  tried  to  encourage 
me  last  night,  but  I  am  sure  the  verdict  will 
be  against  me." 

"I  wouldn't  bother  with  the  papers  if 
I  felt  that  way,  Miss  Martha.  Lots  of 
the  actors  at  Mrs.  Anderson's  said  they 
never  read  no  criticisms,  but  once  in  a  great 
while  when  an  actor  got  a  good  line,  I  al 
ways  noticed  he'd  find  a  way  to  read  it 
aloud  at  the  supper  table." 

"By  the  way,  Lizzie,"  said  Martha,  sud 
denly,  "is  Mrs.  Anderson's  full  now,  do 
you  suppose?" 

"It  wasn't  yesterday." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  could  get  my  old 
room  again?" 

"Your  old  room?"  cried  the  amazed 
Lizzie.  "Why,  that's  no  place  for  a  real 


actress." 


186 


The  Morning  After 

Martha  sighed  again  and  tried  to  smile. 
"But  I'm  not  a  real  actress  and  I  must  find 
a  cheaper  place.  Pack  up  to-day.  Better 
'phone  the  hotel  office  at  once  that  we  shall 
leave  in  an  hour." 

Lizzie  went  to  the  'phone  while  Martha 
opened  the  newspapers.  She  turned  the 
pages  idly  until  she  found  the  headlines 
she  sought,  and  for  a  moment  read  in  si 
lence.  Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
threw  the  papers  on  the  floor. 

"Infamous,"  she  cried  bitterly.  "Why 
need  they  be  so  cruel?  I  won't  read  an 
other  line." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  Pinkie,  resplendent  in  a  new 
tailor-made  gown,  brilliantly  red,  burst 
into  the  room. 

"Just  rushed  in  to  tell  you  how  perfectly 
grand  you  were  last  night,  and  what  per 
fectly  lovely  things  the  papers  said  about 
me,"  she  cried.  "Of  course,  that  smart 
critic  on  the  American  might  have  said  I 

187 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

had  improved  a  little,  but  then  he  said  I 
was  just  as  artistic  when  playing  lines  as 
when  I  was  only  in  the  sextette.  Nice, 
wasn't  it?" 

Martha  smiled.  "What  did  the  Journal 
say?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  something  nice — I  don't  quite  re 
member,"  evaded  Pinkie. 

"And  the  Herald?" 

"Success!"  cried  Pinkie.  "But  I  think 
it's  a  shame  what  some  of  them  said  about 
you,  Martha.  It  isn't  so  at  all." 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Martha, 
somewhat  wearily.  "We  did  the  best  we 
could." 

"The  trouble  was  the  play  was  bad," 
continued  Pinkie.  "Don't  know  what  that 
author  meant  by  putting  me  only  in  one 
act,  and  then  letting  Flossie  come  on  twice 
to  interrupt  my  scenes.  But  come  along, 
Martha — you  must  put  some  powder  on 
that  nose  if  you  expect  to  live  through  an 
other  day.  I'll  help  you  dress." 
188 


THIS    IS    INFAMOUS,    INFAMOUS  !       I    WON?T    BEAD    ANOTHER    LINE.' 


The  Morning  After 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  Martha  had  al 
most  completed  her  toilette,  Lizzie  inter 
rupted  to  say  that  the  hotel  clerk  wanted 
to  send  some  one  up  to  look  at  the  apart 
ment — a  newly  married  couple.  Would  it 
disturb  Miss  Farnum?  If  so,  they  would 
make  the  couple  call  again. 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Martha. 
"Show  them  around  yourself.  1*11  be 
ready  to  leave  in  a  few  minutes." 

Some  three  minutes  later,  Mr.  "Marky" 
Zinsheimer  and  his  bride,  formerly  Miss 
Flossie  Forsythe,  were  ushered  into  the 
white  and  gold  apartment,  entirely  igno 
rant  of  the  fact  that  it  was  occupied  by 
Miss  Farnum.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Zinsheimer 
having  been  married  a  little  more  than  one 
hour,  were  already  looking  for  a  dove-cote 
for  their  honeymoon. 

"This  might  suit  us  all  right — "  began 
Zinsheimer,  when  Flossie  interrupted  him 
with  a  shriek. 

"Bless  my  soul,  if  it  ain't  Lizzie," 
shrieked  Flossie. 

189 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

"Lizzie?"  repeated Zinsheimer.  "What 
are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"Why,  this  is  Miss  Farnum's  apart 
ment,"  explained  the  maid.  "I'll  tell  her 
you're  here,  Miss  Forsythe — " 

"Mrs.  Zinsheimer,  if  you  please,"  re 
sponded  that  young  lady,  haughtily.  "We 
were  married  this  morning." 

"Fact,"  admitted  Zinsheimer.  "I  al 
ways  liked  you  best,  Flossie,  until  you  got 
mad  at  me  because  I  helped  Pinkie,  but 
when  I  saw  you  playing  the  demure  little 
maid  last  night,  with  Pinkie  lording  it  all 
over  you,  and  you  never  answering  back, 
I  said:  'There's  the  girl  for  me.'  So  I 
waited  at  the  stage  door,  and  when  you 
came  out  I  grabbed  you  and  we  sat  up  so 
late  at  Jack's  that  it  was  morning  before 
we  finished  talking  things  over.  So  then 
there  was  only  one  thing  to  do — get 
married." 

"Sure,  you  both  look  happy,"  said 
Lizzie. 

"And  we  are  happy,  aren't  we,  Marky  ?" 
190 


The  Morning  After 

cried  Flossie.     "I'm  going  to  give  up  the 
stage  for  good  and  all." 

"You  can  have  this  apartment  in  an 
hour,"  said  Lizzie.  "Miss  Farnum  is  giv 
ing  it  up  because  it's  too  expensive." 

"Too  expensive  for  her,  eh?"  smiled 
Zinsheirner;  then  he  added  confidentially: 
"I  know  lots  of  people  who  would  consider 
it  an  honor  to  be  allowed  to  pay  her  rent." 

"Marky,"  cried  Flossie,  warningly. 
"Remember  you  are  a  married  man  now." 

"Marky,"  to  conciliate  his  bride,  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  At  this 
psychological  moment,  Miss  Pinkie  Lex 
ington  emerged  from  the  boudoir.  She 
shrieked  at  the  sight. 

"Marky,"  she  cried.  "You  here  with 
Flossie?" 

Flossie  proudly  drew  Zinsheirner  far 
from  the  possibility  of  contact  with  Miss 
Lexington,  and  proudly,  almost  haughtily, 
threw  a  defiant  look  at  her  rival. 

"My  husband,  Mr.  Zinsheimer,"  she 
said. 

191 


rA  Star  for  a  Night 

Pinkie,  with  a  scream,  sank  upon  the  big 
arm-chair  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 
"They  are  married, "  she  moaned.  "They 
are  married." 

"This  morning,  dear,"  smiled  Flossie, 
coldly.  "Thanks  so  much  for  your  con 
gratulations." 

"Married,"  repeated  Pinkie,  incredu 
lously.  "Married." 

Zinsheimer  advanced  cautiously,  and 
gave  her  several  encouraging  pats  on  the 
shoulder. 

"There,  now,  don't  take  on  so,"  he  said 
suavely.  "There's  other  fish  in  the  sea, 
almost  as  good.  It  isn't  half  as  bad  as 
what  they  say  in  the  papers  about  the  play. 
Listen  to  this,"  he  added,  unfolding  a 
newspaper  and  reading:  "  *A  luridly  ludi 
crous  exhibition  of  maudlin  mush.'  Ach 
Gott,  what  you  think  of  that?  'A  mis 
guided  author  loaded  a  thirteen-inch  gun 
to  the  muzzle  with  idiotic  words  and  re 
duced  a  large  and  long-suffering  audience 
to  a  peppered  wreck.  As  an  author,  he's 
192 


The  Morning  After 

a  joke.  As  a  murderer,  he  has  the  punch.' 
What  funny  fellows  those  critics  are. 
Here's  what  he  says  about  Miss  Farnum : 
'The  star — who,  by  the  way,  could  only  be 
observed  with  the  aid  of  a  Lick  telescope 
— was  only  a  shooting  star.  She  made  one 
faint,  fantastic  fizzle,  then  dropped  with 
out  even  a  hiss  into  the  gloom  of  merciful 
oblivion.  She  was  not  even  a  meteor,  and 
only  an  innate  sense  of  delicacy  prevents 
our  calling  her  a  devil-chaser.'  No  won 
der  the  ladies  love  the  Sun.  Now,  Pinkie, 
listen — here's  what  he  says  about  you." 

"What?"  shouted  Pinkie.  "Does  that 
man  dare — " 

"He  does.  Listen:  'Among  the  cast  ap 
peared  Miss  Pinkie  Lexington,  with  a  Ger 
man  accent  on  her  Lex;  a  portly  person  of 
the  oval  type.  She  looked  like  a  turnip 
and  acted  the  part  artistically.  Had  this 
succulent  vegetable  only  burst  from  her 
scant  foliage — but  there,  who  roasts  a 
turnip?"' 

"Oh,  if  he  were  only  here  now,  where 
193 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

I  could  get  my  mitts  on  him,"  shouted  the 
frantic  Pinkie,  springing  to  her  feet.  "Oh, 
let  me  go.  I  am  stifling.  Thank  heaven, 
the  air  outside  at  least  is  pure."  And 
Pinkie  stormed  from  the  room. 

Flossie  gazed  after  the  retreating  form 
of  her  former  chum. 

"Good  exit,  that,"  she  observed. 
"Pinkie  really  ought  to  go  in  for  melo 
drama." 

Martha,  who  had  heard  enough  of  the 
commotion  to  realize  what  was  going  on, 
entered  and  congratulated  both  Flossie  and 
Mr.  Zinsheimer. 

"Sorry  you  are  leaving  this  place," 
volunteered  "Marky."  "Any — er — money 
troubles?" 

"None  whatever,  thank  you,"  replied 
Martha.  "I  am  going  to  leave  the  stage 
and  go  back  to  my  old  home  in  Indiana." 

"Leave  the  stage?"  gasped  Flossie. 

"If  you  ever  need  a^oUnce,  you  know" 
— "Marky"  coughed  confidentially. 
194 


"SHE    LOOKED    LIKE    A   TURNIP   AND    ACTED   TUB    PART    ARTISTICALLY.' 


The  Morning  After 

"Thank  you.  Good-bye,"  replied 
Martha,  smiling. 

"Marky,"  pouted  Flossie,  "I  think  we'd 
better  be  going.  Come — you  promised  to 
buy  me  a  lot  of  new  things  this  morning. 
Hurry  up,  angel." 

"Angel?"  repeated  Zinsheimer.  "That's 
just  what  I  would  like  to  be,  but  she  won't 
let  me.  All  right,  Flossie,  I'm  coming." 


195! 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  FINAL  RECKONING 

GORDON,  too,  had  spent  a  restless  night. 
Leaving  the  theater  abruptly  after  giving 
orders  to  dismiss  the  audience,  he  had 
driven  furiously  to  his  club.  There,  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  grill-room  and  in  a  niche 
not  far  removed  from  the  bar,  he  had  en 
deavored  to  alleviate  his  disappointment 
by  partaking  of  many  gin  rickeys.  Late  at 
night  some  of  his  friends  interrupted  him 
at  this  amusement  to  tell  him  of  the  new 
play  at  the  Globe. 

"New  play?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  the 
theater  wasn't  open." 

"Sure  it  was,"  replied  one  of  his  com 
panions.  "But  they  might  as  well  have 
kept  it  closed.  Beastly  piece,  hackneyed 
197 


A  Star,  for  a  Night 

stuff,  stale  jokes,  bad  company,  and  the 
star — piffle.  Nice  enough  Tittle  girl,  you 
know,  very  pretty  and  all  that,  but  she 
can't  act  for  sour  apples." 

Gordon  listened  in  surprise.  "You 
mean  to  say,"  he  demanded,  "that  Martha 
Farnum  appeared  at  the  Globe  to-night?" 

"Surest  thing  you  know,"  his  friend  re 
plied.  "I  was  there  and  saw  her." 

Thereupon  Gordon  had  hunted  up  Wei- 
don,  bitterly  assailed  him  for  his  treachery, 
and  learned  the  whole  truth  of  Clayton's 
interference.  The  fact  that  the  girl  had 
won  out  against  him  worried  him.  People 
didn't  usually  triumph  over  his  bulldog 
tenacity  and  obstinate  determination. 
However,  when  the  morning  broke,  he  felt 
that  he  must  have  another  interview  with 
the  girl.  If  he  had  been  mistaken  in  her 
— if  she  really  had  the  divine  spark,  after 
all,  or  something  in  its  place  which  helped 
her  to  face  that  unsympathetic  audience  the 
night  before — he  wanted  to  discover  it, 
too.  Therefore,  shortly  after  Martha  had 
198 


The  Final  Reckoning 

finished  packing,  he  was  announced,  and 
told  to  come  up. 

"I  really  ought  not  to  sec  you,  Mr.  Gor 
don,"  said  Martha,  simply,  in  a  business 
like  tone.  "But  there  are  certain  things 
that  must  be  said  before  I  go  away." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  cried  Gordon, 
in  surprise. 

"Home — to  Indiana." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said  hoarsely. 
"You  are  going  away  with  that  man 
Clayton." 

"That  is  not  true,"  replied  Martha,  with 
heat. 

"Well,  you  ought  to  feel  grateful  to  him 
for  letting  you  appear  last  night,  after  I 
had  stopped  you." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Martha  couldn't  re 
sist  the  inclination  to  smile,  but  it  was  a 
wan  smile. 

"I  wish  he  had  stopped  me,  too,"  she 
said. 

"Oh,  do  you  ?  And  yet  you  turned  from 
199 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

me,  who  can  give  you  everything,  to  him, 
who  can  give  you  nothing." 

"He  has  given  me  more  than  you  can 
ever  offer." 

"What?" 

"The  right  to  a  friendship  that  is  good 
and  true.  I  am  glad  you  came  this  morn 
ing,  for  we  must  have  a  settlement." 

"A  settlement?    How?" 

"I  to  keep  what  is  mine,  and  to  return 
that  which  is  yours." 

"Return  what?" 

"Every  penny  you  have  spent  in  this 
mad  scheme  must  be  returned  to  you.  I 
don't  know  how,  or  when,  but  I  will  work 
to  earn  the  money  and  repay  every  cent. 
I  will  not  be  in  your  debt." 

The  telephone  bell  rang.  Martha  an 
swered  it. 

"If  you  are  expecting  visitors' — "  Gor 
don  said. 

"It  is  only  Mr.  Clayton  and  I  want  you 
to  see  him,"  she  said. 
200 


The  Final  Reckoning 

"Clayton  again,  eh?  How  long  have 
you  been  friends?" 

"I  met  him  the  same  day  I  met  you,  at 
French  Lick.  He  took  an  interest  in  me, 
in  a  business  way,  and  loaned  me  the 
money  I  needed  to  come  here  and  study  for 
the  stage.  Every  dollar  of  that  debt  has 
been  repaid  long  since,  but  he  is  still  a 
friend,  tried  and  true,  and  one  who  would 
never  have  been  guilty  of  your  treachery 
of  last  night." 

Clayton  entered  jauntily.  He  seemed 
somewhat  surprised  at  seeing  Gordon. 

"Little  business  council?"  he  said  easily. 

"It  happens  to  be  something  more,"  ex 
plained  Martha.  "I  have  pointed  out  to 
Mr.  Gordon  that  there  must  be  a  final 
settlement  between  us." 

"Just  what  I  was  going  to  say,"  replied 
Clayton,  sitting  on  the  arm  of  the  great 
chair.  "You  see,  Gordon,  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  Miss  Farnum — or  some  one 
else  on  her  behalf — should  return  to  you 
every  dollar  you  have  spent  on  her.  As 
201 


A  Star  for  a  Night 

for  what  you  actually  lost  in  the  starring 
venture — " 

"Oh,  I  see,"  sneered  Gordon.  "A 
change  of  managers?'* 

"No,"  declared  Martha.  "I  have  had 
my  chance,  and  I  have  failed.  To-night 
the  theater  will  be  closed." 

"Well,  that's  wise,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Gordon.  "So  it's  merely  a  change  of 
angels — with  you,  Clayton,  to  pay  the 
bills?" 

"Hereafter,"  said  Clayton,  calmly,  "it 
will  be  my  pleasure  and  my  privilege  to 
pay  all  of  Miss  Farnum's  bills  for  life. 
She  has  promised  to  be  my  wife." 

"What?"  cried  Martha,  in  surprise. 

"Your  wife?"  demanded  Gordon. 

"Precisely,"  continued  Clayton.  "I  bid 
higher  than  anything  you  can  offer,  Gor 
don.  My  bid  includes  a  wedding  ring." 

Gordon  stepped  back,  looked  from 
Martha  to  Clayton,  and  back  again  to  the 
girl,  who  stood,  confused  and  embar 
rassed,  with  her  eyes  turned  toward  the 
202 


The  Final  Reckoning 

floor.  Then  the  innate  refinement  and  the 
result  of  years  of  breeding  asserted  itself 
in  Gordon's  pale  face.  He  stepped  for 
ward  seriously  to  Martha. 

"Miss  Farnum,"  he  said,  humbly  and 
sincerely,  "better  men  than  /  have  made 
mistakes.  May  I  wish  you  every  happi 
ness  ?  The  same  to  you,  Clayton,  with  all 
my  heart.  Good-bye." 

He  turned  and  walked  from  the  room. 
Not  until  he  had  gone  did  Martha  dare  to 
look  Clayton  squarely  in  the  face. 

"I  was  going  to  write  you  this  morn 
ing,"  she  said,  "to  tell  you  that  I  am  going 
home." 

"Without  your  manager's  permission? 
Not  even  a  two  weeks'  notice?" 

"Do  be  serious,  please,"  she  pleaded. 
Then  with  a  sudden  outburst  of  passion: 
"I've  failed  in  everything  I  ever  tried." 

"You  haven't  failed  in  my  eyes,"  de 
clared  Clayton,  taking  her  hand,  while 
she  turned  away  from  him.  "You  have 
203 


A  Star,  for  a  Night 

merely  missed  one  opportunity  you  had 
dreamed  of." 

"Yesterday  I  dreamed,  but  to-day  I  am 
awake.  I  am  going  home." 

Clayton  reached  over  and  took  her 
other  hand,  then  swung  her  around  so  that 
she  faced  him  and  could  not  evade  his  di 
rect  glance. 

"Didn't  I  tell  Gordon  I  was  going  to 
marry  you?"  he  demanded.  "I've  run  out 
of  all  my  other  fads,  and  now  my  latest 
fad  is  trying  to  run  away  from  me." 

Martha  gazed  up  at  him  coquettishly. 
"You  mean  you  want  to  marry  me  just  to 
see  what  I'll  do?"  she  pouted. 

"That's  one  of  the  reasons,  not  to  men 
tion  loving  you,"  replied  Clayton,  in  a 
brisk,  businesslike  tone.  "Well?" 

Martha  paused  a  moment  "Do  you  re 
member,"  she  asked,  "once  you  said  the 
greatest  success  meant  nothing  if  the  right 
person  did  not  share  it  with  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  were  right.  And  now  I  know  that 
204 


The  Final  Reckoning 

the  greatest  failure  also  means  ^nothing,  if 
the  right  person  does  share  it  with  you." 

Clayton  held  out  his  arms  entreatingly. 

"I  think  I'm  going  to  like  my  latest  fad 
immensely,"  he  whispered. 

"And  I  shall  try  to  stick  longer  than  any 
of  the  others,  even  the  postage  stamps," 
she  answered,  as  she  nestled  in  his  arms. 


THE  END 


205 


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to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

nrr  H  199D 


AUG181993 


nn  1 81993^11 


543430 

PS3519 

Janis,  E.  A73 

A  star  for  a  night.     S7 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


